


Jewels and Fire

by JM_Winters



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Mor Ardain, Morag Centric mostly - Freeform, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, With OCs to flesh out the Ardainian Nobility, dynasties kingdoms and powerstruggles oh my, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JM_Winters/pseuds/JM_Winters
Summary: Ardenach. Noun. Modern: 1) Proud and Passionate 2) The current dynasty of the Mor Ardainian Empire. 3) Ancient Ardainian: A title meaning King. Once, to gain the name Ardanach, you must first be a Ladair. Then, you became the Emperor. When Mor Ardain lost Emperor Niamh Ladair, the One Eyed Lion, the man known as the "Bastard Emperor" sat the throne. Born a Fitzroy, named a Ladair upon his father's death, but best known as the founder and Patriarch of House Ardenach, Emperor Nollaig Ardenach started a chain of events that ruined the Royal Court.Reduced to an Emperor who is not yet a man, a cousin whom Morag calls a brother, the Ardenach dynasty seems as frail as Niall is young, and the remaining noble houses don't fare much better. As the last of House Ladair, Morag believed the house would die with her. After all, with the titan dying and the Aegis awakening, there were more important things to focus on than legacies and family names. Until Rex insisted on finding Elysium with the Aegis. Elysium brought something Morag didn't think she'd see for her beloved Empire: a chance to heal wounds.Unfortunately, there are those who can't let old ghosts rest.





	1. Blood and Royals

**Author's Note:**

> I feel bad for another story I have here, and we'll see if it ever catches my spark again. Thing is, I don't get obsessed over movies the way I do a video game.
> 
> And frankly, I've been obsessed with XC2. So much to have put over 200 hours into the main game and another 50+ into T:TGC. Video games trump movies. Probably because I like my entertainment to be more engaging. In fact, I'm anticipating putting a bunch more hours in this game when I finally do a NG+ for both the main game and Torna. I have to be off work in a few months for surgery's sake and will have the time, but that's a different story.
> 
> This idea refuses to leave me alone. Mor Ardain is a mystery and the Monarchy that is presented hints at a lot of things and then leaves a lot of questions. I wanted to explore that, explore Morag, whom from the dialog it's kind of made apparent that neither of her parents are around anymore, Brighid as well. And the idea of what might drive a Blade into becoming a Flesh Eater and a person into being a Blade Eater. 
> 
> I also want to explore the world we see at the end of the game, but that doesn't come until later. Enjoy and please read and review!

“You, you -- you IDIOT!”

The voice barely registered to her. Half her vision was in a crimson haze. She inhaled, coughed, wet and full, then exhaled with a rattle. Her hands felt so distant from the rest of her body. As she turned her head, she could only see one of her precious weapons in hand, the Blue Violet of the gem on the hilt glowing dim. Her fingers closed around the handle -- mostly for comfort now as she saw a bright glow above her.

“Should’ah said sumthin’ if you knew there’d be trouble.” Glowing hands rested over her form, and she could see those Golden eyes trace over her. “Damn it you’re ‘n bad shape.” Came her thready, worried voice. Mórag tried to focus on the trees, on the things that made strange shapes under the light of the red harvest moon, but her eyes were growing heavy.

“Nia!” The voice rang familiar to her ears. She coughed weakly, blinking slowly before looking around. There was grass beneath her back, soaked in blood. A pain that lanced from her left shoulder to her right hip burning hotter than any flame she knew. Hotter than any flame her Blade burned, yet so cold all at once.

She wondered how torn her uniform was, if she was exposed for all to see. There was a moment where she felt mortified by the thought and then she laughed at the ridiculousness. 

“I ‘ardly think this is the time for a laugh. If you could see what kind of --”  
“Nia!” That voice drew closer to them. “Did you find her?”

“Ov’r ‘ere!” Nia called out, lifting her head. The footfalls grew closer, and Nia sighed as her golden eyes narrowed on their drooping gaze. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, ‘ere me?”

“Sorry...” She whispered, her voice barely a croak. It was still heard anyways.

“Damn it. Shut up. You got Brighid there freakin’ the ‘eck out.” Nia hissed. “Did you even think about ‘ow rotten it would be for ‘er to wake up findin’ ‘er core crystal was callin’ ‘er back to it?” Nia scoffed loudly. “Idiot.” She smiled despite her situation, coughed and was shushed by the healer. “Just ‘old on, Mórag. We’re gonna get you through this.” 

The steps grew closer, and then there was a movement. A very familiar warmth pouring into her body from a stronger bond of ether. There was a restless nature to it, a breathlessness even. A gasp, and then there were knees beside her, a hand holding her free one.

“Lady Mórag!” Her eyes flicked open and she could see the blue flames glowing above her. She looked, gaze unfocused, and Brighid’s face looming. She smiled a bit, just a touch of her lips curling, her hand squeezing that of her partner’s. Brighid said nothing at first, just squeezed back. Then, as Nia returned her focus solely to the task at hand, she breathed lowly. “Mór?”

Had it really been so long since she heard even Brighid call her that? Oh the memories…

“B-brighid?” Speaking the name brought pain. She knew it the moment it bubbled by her throat, had her coughing and sputtering. Her hand was squeezed tightly. Brighid bent down low, so low her forehead touched Mórag’s, feeling how cold and clammy it was.

“No.” She heard Brighid whisper, then shudder. “We can’t go out like this. Not after everything...” Brighid’s voice caught, and Mórag could feel with the ether a sharp spike of pain that clawed and burned. Brighid shuddered, and Mórag could hear her choke back a moan of pain. “Did you feel that? I’m being called to sleep. But I’m staying as long as I can.”

Mórag reached up with a gloved hand to cup Brighid’s cheek. Brighid held her hand there.

“Does...it hurt?”  
“Ey!” Nia hissed. “What’d I jus’ say about talkin’ too much?”

“It is painful…” Brighid squeezed her hand in response. “But not as much as you must be in.”

“Nia? We brought Brighid like you said.” Came another voice, out of breath as though they had been sprinting full speed. It was Rex, and with him came the others. “How’s it going?”

“It ain’t lookin’ so gud ov’r ‘ere Rex.” Nia informed solemnly. There were other footsteps. She shuddered, feeling the old of ice in her veins both in and around in the field. Her eyes fell closed again, but she squeezed Brighid’s hand, tight enough to crush fingers. Her beloved Blade didn’t so much as make a sound if it pained her at all.

“Damn it all!” Rex growled. “What are we gonna do?” There was a pause. Mórag felt Brighid straighten up, and Mórag tried to shake her head. No one seemed to notice.

“Nia…” Brighid breathed out in a shaky breath. There was a pause.

It was enough for Pyra and Mythra to catch up to Rex, Tora and Poppi hot on their heels. Zeke and Pandoria followed. Tora yelped at the amount of blood. Pandoria and Pyra gasped, Zeke growled lowly at the sight.

“This is…” Zeke began.  
“Awful.” Pyra ended.  
“There’s so much blood.” Pandoria added softly. They all stepped a little closer, slowly as if worried disturbing the scene would make the injuries worse.

“Nia, please…” Brighid cut in again. Nia sighed over Mórag’s prone form. “It’s an option.”  
“I’m aware, it’s just...it’s not guaranteed, y’know? You’re not Rex an’ Pyra.” Nia warned.  
“What do you mean?” Brighid’s voice teetered on the edge of cutting.

“I think…” Pyra began very softly, “what Nia is trying to say was that Rex being brought back to life after he was killed was a very….” Pyra paused pregnantly, “special circumstance.”

“Why? Because you are the Aegis?” Even though her eyes fell closed now, Mórag could hear the quiet rage in Brighid’s voice. “Are you saying I couldn’t possibly be strong enough?”

“No, of course not! it’s just…” Pyra trailed off, “we don’t want you to blame yourself if...”

“Like anythin’, there’s limitations.” Nia added softly. “She’s cold as ice. Barely breathing. Not like with Niall -- ‘e was in better shape than she is now. She could very well die anyway. Pyra and I, we just want you to be clear on what could ‘appen if this doesn’t work.”

“Which is?” Brighid hissed, “make your point. We’re short on time. Clearly.”  
“It’s risky, Brighid.” Pyra stressed. “For you both.”  
“I know.” Brighid confirmed. “But a single chance is still infinitely better than…” Brighid couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought, so she simply left the rest unsaid.

“I was thinkin’ that, to be ‘onest.” Nia admitted very quietly. “It’s why I asked for Rex to fetch you as quick as possible. Though…” Nia heaved a heavy sigh, then continued, “if we do Brighid -- there’s no turnin’ back, get me? When you finally go this time,” Nia paused, “that’s it. No returnin’ to your Core Crystal, nothin’. That goes even if this attempt to save ‘er is botched.”

“I know.” Mórag opened her eyes to find Brighid’s open in return, staring down at her in concern. She tried to plead. Don’t do it. Don’t do this for me. Brighid instead leaned in to brush the hair plastered to her forehead by blood and sweat to kiss her forehead. “It’s going to be okay, Mór.”

“I know we don’t ‘ave the luxury of time but…” Nia sighed, “let me know when you’re ready.” Nia shot a glance to the others who all started to step away and she added, “don’t go too far. Whoever did this could be nearby still.”

“Nia’s right. We can’t get too relaxed.” Rex agreed, his hand twitching as it rested just behind his hip, ready and waiting. “We got to protect them.” 

“We’ll get whoever did this.” Mythra added from somewhere behind the group, furious.

“What I want to know is who and why?” Zeke stroked his chin, but he sent a concerned glance behind him. “What’s the point? I’d understand back when Mor Ardain was still conquering other Titans, but, we fixed all that now, haven’t we? New world and all?”

“If you ask some,” came Dromarch’s soft cantor, “we may have fixed the need for land but that doesn’t mean we didn’t create new problems all together. Uprooting people. Making them leave everything they knew. It was a trade off and some might feel they were on the losing end.”

“Yeah, but still,” Zeke insisted on the line of questioning, “it could have been Nia, it could have been me, heck Rex would have made more sense.” He pointed out. “Why Mórag?”

“G-Glaistig.” Mórag found her voice again, just on the verge of consciousness. Nia tsked angrily at that, while everyone else froze.

“Oy, Mórag! You need t’stop fightin’ the ‘ealin’ or Brighid giving up ‘er core crystal’s gonna be fer nothin’!” She looked up to Brighid who now hesitated and everyone looked to the Blade in kind.

“Uh...Brighid?” Rex called over. “You look like you saw a ghost or sumthing…”

“Mór…” Brighid whispered. “I’m sorry, but I need you to speak one more time. Who did this?”  
“G-gl-glaistig.” Came the pained groan. Then coughing. Wet and bloody.

“Did I here her right?” Zeke boomed over the group. “Brighid, isn’t that just an old fairytale in Mor Ardain? The woman who comes to haunt those who took everything from her?”

Brighid grew quiet, her eyes closed and lips pulled into a deep frown. Rex scratched the back of his head looking from one to the other. “I don’t think Mórag would joke about this right now.”

“Rex is right.” Pyra backed up. “Besides, Brighid seems to be aware of them…”

“They’re…” Brighid spoke quietly pausing to swallow and find her words, “the oldest Anti-Imperial group in Mor Ardain’s modern history.”

“Like Torna?” Rex gaped.

“Look!” Nia yelled above all of their voices and Mórag found herself wincing, a brief respite of senses breaking through the eclipsing darkness, “We don’t ‘ave time fer this! It’s now or not at all Brig~” Nia suddenly froze. The air blew with cold wind as icy as winter, and Nia now spoke strained and softly, her eyes wide with worry. “Rex. The ether flow just changed.”

“It did?”  
“Yes.” Nia swallowed slowly. “Massively. Something big is here.”

“Like with powers like Obrona or sumthin’ else?” Rex’s golden eyes scanned the trees.   
“You an’ the others need to keep our visitor far away from me, Mórag, an’ Brighid. Got me?”

“Got it!” Rex nodded, peering out closer. “Zeke?”

“Hey!” Zeke called out. “We know you’re out there you devilish coward!” Zeke bellowed into the darkness. “Show yourself! We might just be kind enough to give mercy to a scoundrel like you!”

“I was expecting someone would find her,” Came a voice from in the treetops, sitting on one of the high up branches, feet swinging idly, “but not so soon, honest.” The figure was cast in shadow. They wore a hooded cloak, and wielded a large, wide sword with a long handle “I thought I would enjoy the night watching her bleed out.”

“Is what happened to Mórag your handiwork?” Rex called up to the hooded figure. They stood, and as they did, everything they touched around the tree began to freeze over.

“And if it is, boy,” the cloaked figure murmured, “what’s it to you?” came the challenge. 

“Mórag’s our friend!” Rex declared as he pulled out his sword, pointing it at the assailant. “You harm her and you have to deal with the rest of us!”

“Very well.” The attacker chuckled. As their head rose, their eyes glowed red. “Come then!”


	2. Blades and Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Year 4031. About ten years since I was awakened. I hear the twelve years of war with Uraya has made the Great Empire of Mor Ardain weary of battle.
> 
> His Majesty, Emperor Niamh Ladair Ardenach believes a swift close to this war is coming. He said so in the Senate meeting, but I am not sure if he was completely genuine or if it was bravado. His Majesty's brother, the Lord Special Inquisitor is expecting his firstborn. His Majesty plans to make the child his issue, and I think this is why His Majesty is so focused on ending things between the Empire and Uraya. Children, I am told by Lady Ladair, often get people thinking of how the future should look. That this was inherently a very normal and human thing to do. It has me thinking about things too. Is that why we Blades are so present focused?
> 
> I'll have to ponder on that thought later. I have been tasked with summoning the Lord Special Inquisitor for a Audience. It seems whatever his Majesty is planning, he trusts only his brother to carry it out.

There was a time when his wife was but a whisper on the wind. Light on her feet and inconspicuous. These days however, there was a heaviness to her steps. One he had begun to know all too well and he couldn’t help but grin at. It was a grin of excitement, anticipation and unadulterated joy. He knew why her steps rang so loudly along the floors these days.

Alas, though, now was hardly the time for a distraction. 

The press of cold, dull metal against his neck brought him back to awareness with a start. He turned to find a dark blue face and golden eyes glowing. Then, out of exasperation, a heavy, heaving sigh as his duelling partner placed the practice blade into the hot, red soil. For the first time since they started, he could feel the sweat roll down his face.

“My Lord,” said the man, shifting his white shoulders.  
“Aegeon.” He grinned at him. Aegeon did not return the sentiment. Instead he looked irritated, worried, confounded.

“My Lord,” he began again, “The Ladair House has known enough tragedy these last few years. I pray to the Architect that you take more care with yourself when the time for battle comes.”

“Always. I must bring victory to the Empire and return home safe to my dear wife after all.” He brushed off, “but I want you to see something of utmost importance.” He turned around to watch the shuffling, waddling gait of a woman with titian hair which caught the sun. The orange glow of it made her look like she was on fire. It was ethereal, watching her approach, her ochre eyes settling on Niall and Aegeon as she waved at them both beckoning as she waddled over.

“Ah.” Aegeon nodded his head to the approaching woman, “Lady Ladair.”

“Niall! Aegeon!” Her voice was breathless as she caught up. She use to be a fighter before her stomach began to swell. It was still a small round about her abdomen, hardly noticeable, but spots of blood and a spell of fainting had the midwife and Niall both adamant she take more rest just weeks ago. Trailing a step behind her was a young woman with Tawny hair that faded into black at the ends and bright vermillion eyes. On her chest, shaped like two crescents on either side of a circle, reminiscent of a waxing, full and waning moon, was a blue glowing crystal. “There you are!” She declared with a skip in her step, nearly falling for her trouble, save for Niall’s chest. “Oops. I really need to slow down sometimes…”

“Didn’t the Midwife tell you to stay in bed, love?” Niall kissed her on the cheek and steadied her while Aegeon and the other blade bid each other a greeting. “Deidra, what am I to do with you? I wonder if Father laughs in Heaven. Poor Macha.” Deidra lightly smacked his arm. He chuckled.

“Special Inquisitor, my deepest apologies. I tried to advise Lady Ladair of the importance of rest, but,” Macha began, voice barely above a whisper yet it carried with all the scolding it needed, “alas, she did not listen. I hope the child is in good health despite her neglect.”

“I’m sure a little exercise will do our little baby girl~”  
“Or boy,” Niall interjected.  
“Well.” She finished, looking at Niall sourly. “It will strengthen her up, even.”

“He will be a Ladair. Of the Empire’s blood. That alone will make him both great and strong.”  
Deidra rolled her eyes. “There you go again. Anyways, boy or girl -- they will be a fighter, I’m sure. One that is bound to make the Empire proud. Best to toughen them up young!”

“Haha, toughen him up?”  
“Or her.” Deidra insisted.  
“But from the womb?”  
“I don’t see why not. If I’m at my best, she will be too.”  
“Just try to let him be a baby too, Love. I know we’re at war, but a child is still a child.”

“Oh I will, but she is going to have to be tough enough to beat my idiot brother’s children at anything they throw at her.” Deidra smirked. “I can’t have her losing to her cousins.”

“Considering we hardly speak to your little sister, never mind her twin and his children, why would our son have to compete with little Sean and his brother Brian?” Niall asked shaking his head at the ridiculousness. “Sean will head House Titania, a completely different household when he grows up, and Brian is too young to bother. Don’t forget that neither of them are even considered legitimate by most people’s standards, and his youngest, Brian~”

“Is like the kid everyone’s been whispering about exists for Cian of House Beira. I know.”  
He chuckled. “Just reminding you. Tuireann is considered a rather odd fellow by the courts.”

“We both know Tuireann is not the type to marry and it’s the principle of the competition, love, you know that!” Deidra placed her fists on her hips. “I got five years of ‘Sorry Deidra, no siblings for you. Guess you’ll be Lady Titania.’ Then suddenly, him and my sister show up and sixteen years later he’s got a woman bearing a kid for him with the Titania red hair. He got the title, he got to make mother and father grandparents first, so it’s only right that I -- his big sister -- get to beat him at something in this life.” With her rounded belly, she looked positively ridiculous as she pouted, and Neill found himself grinning. “And for the record: the Midwife said I’m carrying high. Definitely a girl.”

“I don’t know. Looks low.” He got a huff in return for his trouble.  
“Your a man, Niall, what know you of these affairs?”  
“Fair enough love,” he relented, “But would a boy really be such a bad thing…?”

“That depends entirely on who it is you ask,” Niall looked up in confusion at the new voice to find his eyes settling on a woman in a long purple dress approaching them. Her eyes closed, she strode before them, surrounded by an array of flames. “Some would claim desiring a child, never mind a son, before the Emperor so much as marries is indicative of an intention to usurp the throne.” He heard his wife sigh before fidgeting in his arms. “Such a thing could be considered treasonous, by some, Special Inquisitor.”

“Oh. That tiresome talk again.” Deidra huffed. “Sorry. I actually came to tell you that we had company. The Jewel of Mor Ardain.” If Brighid caught Deidra’s mild sarcasm, she seemed to have ignored it, Niall realized, zeroing in on Aegeon.

“Good to see you, Lady Brighid.” A small smile pulled at her lips when Aegeon had reached for her hand and kissed the air above her knuckles.

“It has been a while, Aegeon. I have been missing you on the field.”  
“I’m sure it won’t be too much longer.” Aegeon’s returned in his raspy voice. “You know his Lordship’s energy? I anticipate at least one sortie before the babe arrives.”

“Hopefully not.” Deidra grumbled. “I’d much rather he stay home. Safe. To meet his daughter.”

“Or son,” Niall teased, earning an eye roll from Deidra.

“Ah yes,” Brighid agreed softly, “but if the Empire calls on its Special Inquisitor, is he to not answer the call, Lady Ladair, as a proud Ardainian Noble should?” Deidra murmured something indiscernible and Niall chuckled.

“Now, now Lady Brighid.” He nodded, and she in turn gave a bow. He flinched. “All of this formality really is...unnecessary. How may I help you this fine morn?”

“My greatest apologies, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Lord Special Inquisitor,” Brighid hummed, earning a breathless laugh from Niall. Was she really just doubling down on the formality? “Given the current state of affairs, His Majesty, Emperor Niamh told me that you now hold both the title of Special Inquisitor and Crown Prince. I mean only to show my respect to you, Lord Special Inquisitor.”

“Damn it, brother Tell everyone why don’t you…” Niall grumbled, before shaking his head. “Call me Niall, Brighid. It’s quite fine.” 

“I will keep that in mind, Lord Special Inquisitor.”

“Lady Brighid, are you— never mind that.” Niall stopped himself before he went further, simply sighing. “I take it if you are here personally that His Majesty is requesting my presence?” She nodded and he returned, brushing a bit of his dark hair out of his face. “I’ll wash up, make myself presentable and be right with you.”

“Let it be so.”

Aegeon to his left. Ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Bridghid to his right, quiet and intense as they traversed the palace. Soldiers left and right saluted as he passed by them and he nodded in acknowledgement, hands quietly folded at his back as he peaked from beyond his cap. It was still odd to him despite having several years into the role, but he was slowly beginning to feel at ease. At least in Brighid and Aegeon’s presence, that was.

It felt warm when he coasted too close to Lady Brighid and she seemed in a serene state of mind, but her keen eye always seemed to know something was amiss.

“Is there something the matter, Special Inquisitor?” He flinched, and Aegeon was now watching him, closely. Judging by the frown on his blade’s face, Aegeon was just as concerned but as usual, far too reserved to speak his mind.

“Have you read all of your diary now?” Niall asked. There was a pause, a hesitation.

“You were barely a man during the last few months when I was last awake.” Brighid raised her head up, then down, scanning him. “When I left, you must have mourned bitterly for your father, just like a boy would. But now…”

“I’ll be a father myself, soon. Before my brother, it seems, though he is my elder.”  
“I’ve heard. Do you have any names chosen yet?”

“Not yet. Deidra said we’d keep some old family names in mind, but we wanted to meet them first before deciding.” Niall sighed. “Regardless of the outcome, they will be my brother’s issue it seems.”

“Does he anticipate not getting a chance to see the birth of one of his own?” Brighid frowned. There was an awkward pause. Niall wasn’t going to answer that willingly, and though Brighid seemed to be staring him down, she sensed not to push, so he moved on.

“When he lost his lucidity, the former Emperor~”

“Would frequently call me Aisling.” Brighid filled in. Niall shuffled in an odd manner not sure how best to continue. “I considered it a great compliment to be compared so favourably to your mother, the late Empress Consort Aisling. It honestly upset me the way you might have worried.” 

“You remembered?” He inquired. “But blades never remember their previous driver….”

“I read some of the more recent entries, and it did not seem this was something that bothered me.” There was a beat where Niall was searching her face for something she couldn’t quite name, akin to familiarity. “I am sorry I’m not…’her.”

“You speak with the same voice, in the same manner.” He sighed. “Do you mean to mock us?”

“Not at all.” Brighid assued. “Don’t you believe that if you were born again as the first son of the Emperor instead, that you would still be you?”

“I would be quite different, I would think.” Niall wasn’t sure what it was, but it seemed something about the answer stung Brighid. She frowned.

“I see.” A long pause. Like Brighid was steeling herself. “Would nothing really be the same?”

Aegeon chimed in, softly, gently. “You seem rather preoccupied with this idea Lady Brighid. Are you alright?”

“Quite, Aegeon. I’m just incredibly...curious.” Brighid frowned, turning back to Niall to question him further “Would you just be your brother instead? Or someone else all together? Is all that makes you just circumstance?”

“Of course it’s not. I could never be Niamh. It would be the same blood, right? The same parents. Something probably would stick.” He squared his shoulders when he heard the ring of the bell of the elevator announcing they had arrived and he stared forward. “Why?” He didn’t mean to sound short with her. “Does it matter? That reality doesn’t exist for me. What use is there thinking about the impossible?”

“You’re right. I am sorry, Special Inquisitor, I didn't mean to cause offence.”  
“It’s fine.”

“I do mean it, Niall,” he flinched by how she called his name, so familiar and not, “it must be hard,” Brighid paused, long, stilted, “seeing a face so familiar and important in your life and yet dealing with a complete stranger.”

Ah. That was what it was. Niall felt a tad bit insensitive now. “It’s you I pity most of all in this, Lady Brighid.”

Stepping forward into the red and gold hall, he allowed his eyes to linger on the dark brown table filled with maps to find a man with ink black hair slumped on the throne, crown almost askew, eyes ringed with dark circles. The soldiers took one look at the Special Inquisitor before relaxing and as he neared, Niall dropped to one knee and removed his cap.

“None of that.” Came the gruff voice. The Emperor propped his head on his fist and sighed.

“Your majesty?” Niall questioned as he slowly rose again.

“Just a quick chat Niall. As brothers who are equals, if we could.” The Emperor waved the soldiers away and hesitated with their Blades, the Jewels of the Empire. In the end he elected to let Brighid and Aegeon them stay as he rose to his feet, shuffling towards a window, his expression pinched.

“Are you alright, Majesty?”  
“Niall.” The Emperor turned away to close is bright blue eyes. “Please.”  
“Niamh.”

Niamh looked to Brighid and beckoned her closer. She followed. Aegeon crossed his arms and cast a glance to the door declaring silently that he was vigilant and on guard as they spoke.

“I hear the Urayan King has fallen so ill now that he cannot leave his bed.”  
“Ah. The most recent war council meeting you told me to stay away from?” Niall shot back accusingly. He saw his brother’s shoulders tense. “What say the Senate?”

“Nothing that I did not overrule with threats of my own.”  
“Is that wise, Niamh? With the nobles growing weary of all this batt--”

“Deidra was ill just weeks ago.” Niamh hissed, “She is perhaps the most important person in the Capital right now -- or damn close to it. In her belly, dear brother, is the future of this Empire.”

“Not if you have some of your own.” Niall shot back. “How’s that going by the way?” 

“I hardly think the Empire needs another Bastard in line for the throne.” Niamh hissed.  
“You mean Lord Nolleg?” Niall sighed. “Isn’t it enough for you to jilt him out of succession with my child, despite him being legitimized by Father?”

“He is no Lord, Niall. Just a child lucky enough to have our fool of a Father say he was more than just a Fitzroy, like some of the other noble houses’ founders in the old.” Niamh grumbled.

Niall shook his head, “I understand why you felt it was too soon after Mother, and Father held off for years all for your sake, despite having Mother’s blessing. Out of respect to you. Do you not think Father’s final wish deserves just as much respect as he gave you on the matter?”

“They say a girl will sit the throne in Uraya if the King were to pass.” Niamh switched topics. A move which earned a very loud moan of protest from his younger brother, but nothing further once he glared back. “She is the only child he has had that he acknowledges as being legitimate. It’s amazing how alike the King of Uraya and Father are on that. This girl — She is barely more than a child. She just turned nineteen a few moons ago.”

“Taking the throne at a fresh faced nineteen? Sounds sadly familiar, Majesty.” Niall placed his hand on the glass, casting a glance over his shoulder to Brighid. “You were there once.”

“I remember that day.” Brighid murmured. “You awakened me just before the coronation, you had said.” Brighid’s lips toyed with a small smile. “When I awoke, I thought that you were barely old enough to grow your beard.”

“Just because taking the throne young was my reality doesn’t mean I approve it being someone else’s!” Niamh hissed, as if his frustration deflated as he spoke it. Niall heard his brother sigh heavily, “you understand, right, Lady Brighid?”

“I,” she paused, giving a brief flash of violet eyes, “I do. The war has been terrible to the Great Empire of Mor Ardain, but that does not mean his Majesty wishes Uraya their own despair.”

“You think this girl would cave to the pressure to continue the war?” Niall questioned.

“Under the right advisor, yes. Women are formidable and passionate. Ones like Deidra prove such things.” Niamh began, measuring his words carefully. “They can be tremendous warriors and mothers of warriors. Strong women make strong warriors after all. As leaders though, they are susceptible to persuasion. As are children. This girl is both.” Niamh hissed, “and the battles between us would never stop if greed leads the Kingdom of Uraya.”

“She’s nineteen, Niamh. Barely a little girl, don’t you think?”

Brighid seemed to dip her head in understanding. “Perhaps, if the Architect is willing, there is a chance. Nineteen is old enough for her to have a mind of her own.”

“Maybe, but don’t hold your breath, Brighid. This war has been awful to our people who endured. You said something when we bonded,” Niamh hummed, “that you understood my grief and my determination like it was your own, right?”

“I did?” Bridghid seemed puzzled.

“Do you not remember?” There was a long silence. Niamh huffed, “Nevermind. I promise, before you sleep again, you will not have your last thought be that of regret.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Niall,” he began, interrupting his brother, “this war was started by one old fool with another.”  
“I remember. The Uryan King fell ill then. Father thought our chance to annex fertile land came.”  
“Father is dead. We nearly lost Brighid.” Niamh hummed. “Diplomacy has gone nowhere.”  
“Maybe we need more time?” Niall knew where this was going. “If tempers cooled....”

“Our people are weary. This war with Uraya is costly and if we continue on there will be neither a Mor Ardain or Uraya to speak of. The sad part is -- the real battle is out there…” Niamh pointed to the cloud sea, grimly, “Mor Ardain and her people need a future beyond our Titan.”

“Ah.” Niall breathed softly, “is that why you sent Master Beira with Nollaig?” Niall shook his head in disbelief. “Really, Brother, you sent Cian Beira? Knowing the sort of man he is? He has his father cursing him for running him nearly broke with his strange scientific projects and the entire Gormotti House of Saets in an uproar after his little tryst with Lady Andraste that supposedly left her with child.”

“To be frank, yes.” Niamh chuckled softly. “Nothing slips past you, huh, Niall?”  
“But why? He’s noble and of a trustworthy house, sure. Father trusted his father greatly as his~”

“And is he not a loyal soldier and member of the royal court?” Niamh interrupted. “He has his faults and his peculiarities, but that does not mean he is worth any less to our Empire where his skill is concerned.” Niamh chuckled. “In fact, if you were to ask me, I think he’s rather future thinking. We fail to understand him because he’s not with the present like we are.”

“Which is exactly why…” Niall gestured into the air to solidify his concern, “should we trust someone so…” Niall paused “peculiar? Sending him to Gormott could prove to encourage his rather strange behaviour, or give the Gormotti the wrong impression of us, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so, but his personal experience with the people of Gormott makes him best suited for gathering information on the land.” Niamh noted. “He will learn everything we need to ensure we finally take Gormott with as little further bloodshed as possible.” Niamh shook his head, “but none of that is going to matter if we’re still fighting Uraya.”

“You’re right. We had to drop Gormott for a while when Uraya attacked us before. It’s clear we can’t handle both fronts and be successful at both.”

“Now if I was a different man,” Niamh hummed, “I would end this nonsense with the employ of an Assassin like the great Cadfan the Black, but the vacuum that would leave…”

A solemn understanding passed. Brighid looked between the two men and broke the silence.

“Then to end this war Uraya…” Brighid looked to her driver. “We want to influence them, not destabilize them. That leaves assassination out of the cards, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but there are ways.” Niamh murmured, staring at his brother. “Long Live Queen Raquera.” 

“Very well.” Niall sighed. “What would you have me do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we start fleshing out Mor Ardain Pre-XC2. We will visit post-XC2 again in bits and bites until we settle there permanently, but get comfy. :)
> 
> Here's me also experimenting a bit on what I've already built up. I don't know, but I kinda do like the chapter summary being one of Brighid's journal entries, giving a hint of setting and time and her thoughts. Anywho. I might just keep it :)


	3. The Bastard Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall has been approaching rapidly.
> 
> In the Empire this changes little. Nights never truly cool, though I'm told centuries ago 'night chill' was a common cause of death for beggars. 'Fall' for other Titans can come with a change in weather. For us, nights grow longer than days. The Lord Inquisitor claims his first born will be with us before the end of the year.
> 
> His Majesty has been mercurial. The physicians assure me I have little to worry about, but I've grown concerned. His Majesty and I don't bond in the same way. Our Ether link is strong but feels frayed. Our training session last night only confirmed that he is unwell, beyond losing his eye. At least His Majesty seems pleased that our most recent campaign in Uraya ended before Lady Titania could give birth. We have managed to lay quite the blow to Uraya's vassal armies. Now we wait to see if that will give young Raquera an opportunity. 
> 
> The Lord Inquisitor has called on me. It seems our ship from Gormott is returning. Apparently the son of one of the Lords, Master Beira was sent there to "observe and protect", something. When I asked for details, the Lord Inquisitor told me I should come to the docks to see for myself. I must say, I am curious.

“I swear,” Niall stretched his arms high above his head with a yawn, “with every trip we make around the World Tree, Mor Ardain becomes even more bloody hot.”

“Do you really think so, Lord Inquisitor?” Brighid questioned. Niall Ladair looked from the peak of Hardhaigh Palace to where the clouds touched the grand pillars that kept Alba Cavanich above the cloud sea. The Blade sighed softly, mournfully. “How long do you think our beloved Titan has left before it sinks to the bottom of the clouds?” As if to make her point, she turned her head towards one of the glowing red lines of ether that throbbed like a fresh scar.

Niall shrugged his shoulders while turning his gaze to Aegeon beside him, silent and wary. He was always cautious by nature and few with words, Brighid found, a good way to be given the war with Uraya. Especially with the most recent attack His Majesty and brother launched to eliminate most of Uraya’s seated Council. Luckily the brothers returned in one piece, save an injury for the Emperor, but the high loss of soldiers in that one battle seemed to solidify just how delicate the situation grew as the war continued to drag on.

“Ah, there’s our ship.” Niall announced, interrupting her thoughts. Soldiers milled about before lining up. Then after much diligence, the door opened and out came a Soldier. “Lady Brighid?”

She nodded as she approached from Niall’s left, looking as the soldier and his blade -- a beautiful blond woman with circlets around her wrists and neck, stepped out followed by the soldiers dipping their head. She was debriefed on who they were and their names. They were part of the guard. The Blade was a healer named Vess. Her partner, Mabon.

Behind them was another man with long snow white hair tied into a low ponytail with a black ribbon. He bore brilliant blue eyes unlike Niall and Niamh’s. His seemed to glow in the dim light of the morning in an ethereal way. He looked over to Niall and Brighid before bowing his head.

“Lord Ladair.” He greeted. “Lady Brighid, so good to see you. Great to see you as well, Lord Aegeon!” He called a little further up. Aegeon gave him a nod and Brighid eyed the man. Though his hair was snow white, his eyebrows, lashes and beard were all jet black. How strange and peculiar. “I pray you have been keeping my dear friend here in good health?” 

Brighid heard Aegeon mumble some sort of affirmative as she scanned this man who rested a hand on his hips, just above where two weapons sat: long bars with handles three quarters of the way. Each one was bladed. Behind him, slow and lumbering, was a large beast like Blade with a shaggy, black and purple coat. The man was dressed in ornate armour, but armour all the same, and he moved in it like a second skin.

“How was it, Cian?” Niall inquired.

“Peaceful.” There was a sense of forlorn, and then playfulness to Cian Beira, “some things don’t change though. Potent drinks have a kick if you know not to ask for swill. You can make a friend after a fight at the pub, and if you know where to look the women are,” he smirked, “beautiful.”

“What part of ‘keep a low profile’ was misunderstood?” Niall shook his head. “Goodness, man.”

“I was also ordered to ‘gather information’ my Lord.” Cian noted. “Being uptight wouldn’t endear me to the locals.” Brighid had to admit, it was sound logic. Mabon soon ruined it for him though.

“Master Cian did indeed run amok, My Lord.” Mabon noted. Brighid saw a glint in his eye. 

“Like you weren’t getting into it either, Mabon?” Lord Beira tsked. “You can’t learn from pursed lips. But from the lips of friendship and a bit of wine is a different matter.”

“And the whores, Cian?” Mabon admonished. Brighid noticed Niall’s hand curl into a fist.

“Precious things can be learned from both pairs of their lips!” Cian protested. Brighid noticed he had looked at her, and seemed to almost flinch. She must have worn her disapproval quite openly. “Apologies for the vulgarity, Lady Brighid.” He bowed, low, quick, the action fluttering as he moved. “I’ve forgotten I’m in polite company.”

“It’s…” Brighid didn’t know what to end that at, so she resolved to let the silence speak for itself. Niall was soon to break it though with his own irritation and exasperation at the other man.

“Cian,” Nial hissed lowly, “You drank and whored on Empire’s coin?” Niall pressed fingertips to his forehead. “Hoooo boy.”

“Nonsense, Lord Inquisitor,” Cian dismissed with a wave. “I used Lord Beira’s. Father has the money.”

“By the Architect, I swear, Cian,” Niall hissed, “Do you mean to spit on your foremother, the Former Empress?”

“Blessed be Empress Caoimhe, first of her name.” Cian defended gently, “There’s a method to my madness, Lord Ladair, trust. This is where I shine and my results speak for themselves. Just like with funding mechan research, there’s a reason for what I do.” Cian insisted.

“Like what?” Niall rolled his eyes.

“Well. Wars take limbs. Missing limbs mean unfulfilled lives. Soldiers with careers cut short. Kids with lost opportunities. Technology that can change this is revolutionary, see. Hence, I fund it.” 

“Sure.” Niall crossed his arms.

“As for slumming it with the locals, that is for…” Cian chuckled, “endearing ourselves.” Cian smiled, “Do you know who would leap at the chance if they knew the Newly anointed Ardainian Crown Prince was there? Hell, we’d have Cadfan the Black on our front door in hours, but if we’re all friends, suddenly, to rat us out becomes a crisis of one’s moral character.”

“If you say…” Niall didn’t sound convinced, Brighid noticed, but he agreed to the logic anyways.

“I’ll admit it was nice to not be in this heat though! I tell you, this armor will cook me!”

“You’ll adjust, I’m sure.” Niall noted, dead panned.  
“To be honest, I could stay in Gormott forever!”

“And have Lady Andraste cursing your name even more?” Mabon grinned. “Sounds foolish.”  
“Hush! The Lady Saetes and I are finding amends in our love, I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Well, Cian, to be perfectly honest,” Niall interjected, “returning to Gormott could be in the cards if all goes according to plan…” Niall left the rest in the air. “His Majesty is awaiting your report.”

“Right! Busy work must be done! I’ll be off then!” Cian Beira jogged away from them, and all of a sudden, the animal like companion of a Blade that was with him bounded off with much speed, barely a figure and more a furry blur with a bright flash of what appeared to be vivid green eyes. Brighid took in the majesty and swiftness of the movement, feeling the ether move around them like a blanketing darkness — a cloud temporarily covering the sun.

“Lord Niall, right?” Came a cracking voice from behind Mabon, “The Special Inquisitor?”

“Indeed” Niall took off his hat, pressing it by his heart, “How are you Prince Nollaig?”

“The Illegitimate son?” Brighid wrinkled her nose. She felt a pang of guilt when she saw the boy cast his eyes to the ground. “This is who you wanted me to meet?”

Niall looked over his shoulder to grin at her. “Correct.”  
“And Captain Cian Beira?” Brighid questioned.

“Extra weight.” Mabon and Niall spoke at once, then chuckled together.

“Cian is an excellent guard. He’s loyal, and a bit strange.” Niall explained. “But we can’t deny he has a way with people.”

“You mean a way under the skirts of women, My Lord?” Mabon jested.

“I am refraining from judging a book I have not yet read cover to cover.” Niall shook his head, but he did smile. “Nollaig here is the important one, though. Say hello to our new Crown Prince.”

“Crown Prince? But I thought you--”

“Lady Brighid,” Came Aegeon’s whisper quiet voice from a distance, “Did the Special Inquisitor not tell you?” She looked at her fellow Blade and companion to the Royal Family in confusion.

“I abdicated.” Niall declared with a cheeky grin, “Mabon saw it. Niamh was upset.”

“It was quite a sight Lady Brighid.” Mabon corroborated. “My Lord you are full of surprises.”

“I told my brother I can lead a house and an army, but please, for the love of the Architect, don’t put me in line to lead the damn Empire, even if in name only.”

Brighid scoffed. “And he accepted an argument like that?”

“Not at first, but I cannot manage the ceremony of Crown Prince while being Special Inquisitor all at the same time.” Niall impressed. “My brother needs his right hand man. That’s me.”

“Long live the Emperor,” Mabon chimed, “I for one would like to see him turn old and grey on the throne like your father did, my Lord. Many in the Empire feel the same.”

“Your unborn child?” Brighid found this didn’t add up. “Are they not your brother’s issue?”

“Of course. That was part of the agreement with Nolleg. He gets the titles. I stay as Special Inquisitor, and my son gets to be Emperor next.” Niall turned towards her, hands behind his back, thoughtful. “Niamh plans to live a nice long, rest assured. He wants to make Mor Ardain great again, and give you the life you deserve here. I insisted on this as a way to help keep the Ladair line established and Niamh, well… it took time to make him see my point, but he did.”

“That is why he was so furious.” Brighid placed a hand against her core crystal, “he had us sparring until dawn. He was just about ready to collapse by the end and he is still recovering!”

“I know, I know,” Niall dismissed, “how was I to guess he’d be a big baby about this?”

She scowled, eyes still closed, though she allowed them to flash open long enough to take in this young boy. He was small, which made him seem even younger than the Heir to the Urayan Throne -- Raquera. Perhaps he was, but Brighid did not believe it was by much. He had the same bright blue eyes of her Driver, Emperor Niamh, and his brother Lord Niall, but his hair wasn’t inky black. It was a deep, dark blue. Like that of the stories of her driver, Hugo.

“I’m s-sorry.” Nollaig murmured, watching the flames of Brighid’s body grow. “I hope we can get along, despite all this, Lady Brighid.” Brighid felt Niamh’s anger as though it was her own, but it soon passed. With a sigh, the heat around her calmed. The young man quivered but nodded.

“How did you find Gormott, Your Grace?” Niall questioned, grabbing Nollaig’s attention.

“It was...b-beautiful.” The boy stuttered, “so wonderfully green. Nothing like our deserts.”

Brighid found her ears tuned to the conversation, but thoughts residing elsewhere. The young Prince seemed to have calmed his nerves once his older brother began speaking. There was a fondness radiating from Niall, one the boy thrived in. It made Nollaig seem more endearing. 

In the back of her mind, she could hear the wine filled diatrabs of the Emperor: the whore’s son, the Bastard, usurper. Niamh was displeased at Niall’s insistence in including Nollaig. In fact she found these days that Niamh spent more time slumped in his throne, staring into nothing.

She could picture it -- the crisp white bandages that covered half his face. The deep lines growing along his forehead. The newly grown grey that littered his temples making her wonder where that boy who could barely grow a beard had gone and went in the last dozen years.

“I wrote about the war starting, but it seems that was all the time I had to comment about it, Emperor Niamh.” She had brought up a few weeks ago, just after their raid on Uraya.

“You want to know what happened?” Niamh rumbled, bitter. He always seemed to be now.  
“I need to know things that are beyond the obvious: that I was fighting alongside your father.”

“Father launched the first attack, but Uraya was to never be taken lightly, ill King or not.” Niamh detailed. “Then, Father fell. Uraya took your core crystal. I was stuck with the crown.” Brighid remembered the Emperor telling her, “Niall already had Aegeon. He was to be my Inquisitor, or Emperor himself if I was unworthy of you.”

“How did you get me back?”

“The Urayans couldn’t keep quiet about the monumental victory that was stealing one of Mor Ardain’s precious Jewels of the Empire from their royal family. It was a boon of pride for them.”

“Ah.” She could discern the rest. “It was easy to find where they kept me.”

“As his first, then unofficial, act as Special Inquisitor, he got you back in perhaps one of the most daring sieges our Empire had seen.” Niamh folded his hands, gazing elsewhere. “Then your crystal began glowing again and I just knew I couldn’t avoid the coronation forever.”

“It must of been difficult, losing your father and someone who was like your mother so suddenly.” Brighid hummed, “and then to have all that responsibility thrusted on you.”

“I wish I could say it ended there,” Niamh swirled his glass of wine as he spoke, frowning, “I tried to be diplomatic. The King of Uraya was not kind though. He smarted at the embarrassment of having Niall casually go into his land and take back what was stolen from us.” He took a sip from his wine glass. “So, the Urayan King thought it apt to make sure I was punished.”

“How so?”

“Lady Aine was killed.” Niamh finished his glass of wine, slamming the glass on the wooden table beside him a little too hard. “I was to be a young father. A young emperor. We lost the child. I had her, but I lost her too. So much loss.” He folded his hands, staring into nothing. “I bonded with your crystal then. So full of regret that it seems it resonated with you.”

“Lady Aine Cecil,” Brighid reached and touched his hand. “You were going to marry her.” For a second she thought in that blue gaze she saw a young, scared boy instead of a proud Emperor. 

He looked at her, wide eyed. “You remembered?”

Brighid raised the book that was her journal and watched him look at her with the same crestfallen gaze as his brother days before. “I was happy for you. She seemed very kind.”

“The kindest soul.”

“Was she with child?” Brighid didn’t mean to pry but, “my journal...it seemed the previous me was wondering if that was the ‘good news’ you wanted to share with me and your father once things calmed and we returned from our raid on Uraya. What happened to the little one?”

“Stillborn. A son. Seamus.” He rasped. 

Brighid nodded. “You needed time to heal.” It was a statement and Brighid found her keen senses putting the rest of it together. “And then...you didn’t get the chance. It must be heavy, carrying such loss, your Majesty. You are just how old now?”

“With this newest trip around the World Tree,” Niamh hummed, “thirty-one.”

“And you have been Emperor for how long?”  
“A dozen years. I was nineteen. Niall just fifteen. We lost father two years before that.”

“I may not remember the years I have spent as the legacy of Ardanian Emperors, but I still feel a world weariness. One I see reflected in you. It’s such a shame to be beyond your years in pain.”

“It is what it is, Brighid.”  
“And your youngest brother?”

Niamh's eyes narrowed like hard gems and she could feel his rage. “The brat is seventeen, and we will not talk about him further, Brighid, thank you.”

“I’ll make mind not to do so again, Your Majesty.”

They lapsed into silence. Him looking at his empty wine cup, she watching the high tide roll in, making the harsh machinery of Mor Ardain seem softer. 

“If it is any acquiescence, Brighid,” Niamh began again softly, “you are very much like your old self. Elegant. Caring,” he chuckled lowly, mournfully, “a little too keen on the ongoings of your surroundings for anyone’s comfort, with a touch of nosiness,” the heat in her cheeks that she felt, she was sure most would call it embarrassment, “and a penchant for being overly direct.”

She chuckled slightly. He gave a wry smile in return, “I’ll try to be more gentle about my prodding next time Your Majesty.” Then in a smaller voice she added. “Thank you.”

“Your welcome, and please, call me Niamh. You’re family Brighid. Not just anyone sees me when I bleed.” He gestured to his bandages and she nodded in solemn understanding.

“Lady Brighid.” She turned her attention to the small voice of Nollaig and nodded, “are you alright? You look cold.” Before she could respond, the young man was offering her jacket while his elder brother seemed to speak loudly to Mabon about how tall Nollaig grew.

She noticed the young man wincing as he neared her, pulling back singed hands, and he seemed genuinely shocked that the fire Blade, the woman who was perpetually on fire was so hot she could burn him inadvertently.

“I’m a Blade, boy.” She looked at him like he was a fool. “A fire Blade at that.”

“I mean no offence, Lady Brighid.” Nollaig shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking towards the cloud sea, shaking his hands at the wrist to rid himself of the sting while trying his best to not make it obvious. “but you seemed lonely. You know, loneliness is its own type of coldness that we all need warmth from, Blades and humans alike.” He noted, “Mom always use to say that.”

“Perhaps so.” She pulled the jacket around her shoulders tightly despite herself.

“Maybe some of it is His Majesty’s loneliness?” Nollaig proposed. “They say Drivers influence Blades with their emotions. I know that the Emperor may hate me, but I do worry about him...

“No, it’s not hate…” Brighid trailed off feeling a sharp jolt. An echo of something so familiar she couldn’t put her finger on it. “I...made a mistake.” She whispered, but the boy caught it.

“Huh? A mistake?” His blue eyes stared at her, wide eyed. “When did it happen?”

She shook her head. “Just words, Your Grace. Did you know that hiding you in Gormott was His Majesty the Emperor Niamh’s idea, not Lord Niall’s?”

“It was His Majesty’s? Really?” He had a sweet way about him, Brighid found. Gentle of heart, unlike his older brothers who were raised to hold a sword as soon as they could stand. They were kind, they all were, just like their father, but gentle hardly described the elder two. They said the young Prince was connected to the people in a way his brothers couldn’t be since his mother was practically a commoner, and that he grew up with only sisters before that.

“He was worried for your safety.” Brighid knew it was more than that. Niamh rarely did one thing just for a simple purpose. “This way we ensured there was always a Prince in waiting.”

“But now I’m here.” The boy pondered. “I wonder why…”

“To see your nephew or niece! We dealt a serious blow to Uraya, so we can relax a little!” Niall chimed in, “Deidra is ready to burst! She literally screamed that at me!” He chuckled. “We ought to celebrate our victory and the new family! You can handle your drink, right Brother?”

“Ah…” Nollaig flushed. Brighid wondered if he felt overwhelmed. This was the first time the sons of the late Emperor Ruairi the Third of his name -- may he rest in peace -- treated their former bastard and recently declared legitimate brother as one of them.

“We should let the Prince Settle in,” she couldn’t explain what came over her but it felt almost protective, “then we can discuss the festivities around your wife giving birth.”

“Right, give Nollaig some breathing space!” Niall seemed to be in a good mood, “well, since you are playing nicely, perhaps I should leave you two to talk?”

Brighid wasn’t given a chance to say no, so she merely sighed at how quiet the harbour became and looked to the Prince, who smiled back at her.

“I heard you kept a journal?” He asked. She nodded. “May I beg you a favour, Lady Brighid?”  
“How may I serve you, Your Highness?”  
“Can you tell me about what you wrote about my father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you as always. Please review if it strikes your fancy!  
> Also, if anyone would be up for some Discord chat, let me know. :)


	4. The Pain of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish there were words to explain these feelings. His Majesty, Emperor -- no, he told me to call him Niamh -- he did me a kindness today. I wish I could say that the words I wanted to know, to hear would be comforting, but now I'm not so sure. He told me that the 'me' that writes now, was very much like the me he knew as a boy when I was his father's Blade. I thought I would be comforted by this fact, but...
> 
> Emperor Ruari the Third, the man who started the current war with Uraya was a hot blooded man. It seems that I only had made it worse. I had encouraged him to take up arms. If my previous entries are to be believed, I itched for something more than just standing beside the Emperor's throne. The cost?
> 
> There use to be seven noble houses in the Empire of Mor Ardain. Now there are only five, and both of the missing ones have been wiped out in the last twelve years. The men who headed them were Lord Niall's peers at the time. Teenagers. Just like he had been at the time. So take this as a cautionary tale. When we awaken next and you are reading these entries to know about your drivers of the past, always remember: The suffering of the young and innocent is not worth the satisfaction of our sated bloodlust.

“An eye for an eye.” The Emperor pressed a hand to his patch. Brighid could still feel the wound -- not literally, but it changed something about how her ether connection reached Emperor Niamh Ladair Ardenach. It was like the flow was scarred and healed over jagged. Niamh stood, back straight, arms folded, hips adorned with her Whipswords. He chuckled despite himself, warmth radiating from the gaze of his still present eye.

“You are the Jewel of the Empire, yet we keep you in the throne room, or send you on the battlefield alone. I can’t help but think we keep you blindfolded from your own potential.”

“I live to serve you, Your Majesty” She replied dutifully. 

“In a gilded cage?” He asked, laughing. “That just seems silly. Hell, Aegeon lacks your raw power, but my brother’s skill puts what I did out there with your strength to shame. Pitiful.”

“Your Majesty,” She reached out, he grasped her hand, “you are not at fault. It’s been years si--”  
“Niall had to spill blood. I made the order, yet he did the gruesome part.” Niamh made a face.  
“Such is the expectation of the Special Inquisitor.”

“I feel weak for not being the Emperor that I think— no, that I know Mor Ardain deserves,” He muttered petulantly, “How many times has your Driver’s lack of skill betrayed you, Brighid?”

“From what I have written,” Brighid stepped closer, “many a times, unfortunately.”

“Then there are countless more who died just trying to be worthy of you.” Niamh placed a hand to his chin. “If we are to continue as an Empire -- it must stop.” He frowned, for a moment but he smiled soon after, humming a little tune to himself. “But that is quite done for now.” Brighid didn’t know why but he seemed calm today. It was a relief. “Nollaig settled in well.”

“He seems to like his new life here.”  
“This may be a decade late, but do you like your life?”

Brighid paused for a long time. “The war has made it tense, but getting to know you and your brother again as adults has made it worthwhile.” Brighid confirmed. “I am happy here.”

“Excellent.” Niamh hummed. “I want you to live this life as long as you can then. I rather like this version of you Brighid. You deserve your time, and a very full life.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“No need.” He breathed. “I’ll lead Mor Ardain to prosperity, so when my Niece or Nephew comes to the throne, I will not leave the mess my father did for me.”

“Next time in battle, we’ll make sure you leave without injury.” Brighid promised.

“I have one better for you,” he folded his arms behind his back again, “Let’s have peace. Uraya seems to be more open to discussion now. Our bets seem to be well vested in Raquera as our machinations have given her more authority. I’m so glad. I’m finally fixing this mess.”

“It was your regret for losing Aine.” Brighid hummed, “and your father’s for this war.”

“That led to me being being able to awaken you so soon, yes.” Niamh agreed, turning back to gaze out the window. “You often said that as his closest companion since mother and Lady Morna, you should have taken the responsibility of being his voice of reason more seriously.”

“I should of talked him out of the war.” Brighid felt dread settle on her. “If I had known…”  
“That it would drag for over a decade?” Niamh chuckled, “you had no way of knowing.”  
“I made a mistake…” Brighid whispered, the words echoing softly in her memory.

“How so?” He asked her gently, still staring away from her towards the cloud sea, “By staying silent? My father was stubborn, and you are a Blade, Brighid. An instrument of war.”

“We give Drivers weapons,” Brighid’s tone sharpened, “but that does not make us instruments.”  
“I misspoke.” The Emperor sighed, “I am trying to say fighting is ingrained in a Blade’s nature.”  
“What does that have to do with me?”

“Your nature got the best of you.” Brighid’s eyes were open now. Niamh was calm, but she could feel something strange settling, like a burning pressure. The flames around her grew hot and scorching as the Emperor continued. “For decades and decades, several generations over, we kept you beside an Emperor. Idle. It was only natural that when you saw an opportunity to be more than just a display piece, that you leapt for the opportunity. You encouraged him, actually.”

“I did?” Brighid’s own words echoed in her mind. ‘’I made a mistake.’ It clicked. “I caused this?”  
“You encouraged, Father.” He confirmed. “But you didn’t cause this war and its suffering.”  
“Is that why you personally went to battle in Uraya, despite all the risks?”

“I’d rather history does not repeat itself.” Niamh spoke smoothly, but Brighid could see his hands clasped tight behind his back. “I don’t blame you. As a Blade, there’s a desire that can never be realized at the side of an idle ruler. In the hands of someone like Father, it can be dangerous.”

Brighid asked to be excused for her own quarters, placed beside his Majesty’s own. Niamh never said a word against. Nor did he bother giving her any view of him besides his back since that conversation began. There was an uneasiness settled around her as she found her pen.

Always remember:

The suffering of the young and innocent is not worth the satisfaction of our sated Bloodlust.

 

Anything else she could think of to add was forgotten when she got a knock on her door of a panicked Macha, her red eyes wide with worry, declaring it was an emergency. She opened the door to stare at her, not sure what to make of this interruption.

“Can I help you?”  
“Lady Deidra is in labour,” the girl noted, panicked and small voiced, “what do I do?”

“Be patient.” She resisted the urge to sigh after saying that. It was a delicate time, but hardly one she would constitute as an emergency. “Has she been in labour for several hours now?”

“Yes, how did you know?”  
“His Majesty said mentioned it.” Brighid said matter of fact. “Are her siblings here?”  
“Lord Titania and Lady Sibohan didn’t come.”  
That wasn’t terribly surprising given the feuds between the Titania siblings. “Why panic now?”  
“Lady Brighid,” Macha still seemed jittery. “My crystal, it’s calling...”

That got some of her irritation at the interruption to dissipate instantly. If Macha’s crystal was calling, Deidra’s delivery was not going smoothly. “When did this start?”

“Half an hour ago.” Macha filled in, and Brighid glanced outside. The sun was setting. It was the hot season, where the sun was unrelenting. Deidra’s labour pains started before the sun rose today. This did not bode well. “I don’t want to go back.” Macha spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

“Then fight the call for as long as you are able, Macha.”  
“What if she dies?”  
“She is a very strong woman.” Brighid reassured, “You know that better than anyone, right?”  
“Her strength is what let me bond with her.”

“Then trust in that strength, in Lady Deidra.” Brighid insisted to the other blade. It was the least she could do. “All women risk death when they give birth, but she’s strong enough to win.”

Brighid closed her journal and gestured to the hallway. The smaller of the two blades led the way down the hall to the wing of Hardhaigh Palace where Niall and Deidra had been staying. As they neared, Brighid could see the image of calm presented was a cover for unrelenting anxiety.

The attendants were walking at brisk paces. Niamh spoke with Nollaig, winces of worry etched on his face. Niall stood further down the hall, hands folded behind his back, but he paced with an irritability. As they got closer to the door where the birthing was happening, Brighid could hear a mixture of pained screams and breathless sobs. It was Deidra’s voice for certain.

“Maybe,” Brighid murmured softly, catching the attention of the two men and young teen, who all greeted her silently in their own way. Niall with a slight nod, Nollaig with a small wave and Naimh with a hand reaching out to becon her to his side. “Macha should be at her lady’s side?” 

“Ah -- Are you sure Lady Brighid?”  
“If His Lord Special Inquisitor is fine with it?”

“You have been with Deidra longer than I have. Go to her.” The small Blade gave a nod, seemingly confused before following. When the door opened and closed, giving Brighid a brief shudder when Deidra’s screams hit a new pitch, she took Niamh’s hand, and he kissed it gently.

“I’m not sure if you’re being decidedly kind or cruel, Lady Brighid.” Naimh murmured.  
“I was aiming for kindness. To suddenly return without warning must be unpleasant.”  
“So you know then.” He hummed softly, looking to his brother.

“Both mother and child are in distress.” Niall spoke up, stonily from his spot near the end of the hall. His frown was grave. “We could end up losing one or both of them.”

“Could? Then there is hope yet still.”  
“If the Architect is willing.” Niall murmured.

“Excuse me sir,” the soft voice of Nollaig seemed to catch their attention and Brighid looked up to a soldier approaching them. “Can we help you?”

“I’m here with a report for his Lord Inquisitor.” Something struck Brighid as odd about this.

“I specifically requested that only the high guard was to be in the palace and to keep anyone from even entering this wing.” Brighid did a once over. Niall was right to find it odd now that she took another look. This man had the wrong uniform. “What are you doing over here?”

“I was ordered to give a report directly to you, sir.”

“Who gave that order?” Niall pressed. Niamh shifted his hands so they rested on the Whipswords. Brighid allowed herself to draw as much ether from the air as she could.

“Niall!” The Emperor called out.

Niall rushed to grab Nollaig by the arm and yank him backwards. The soldier, knowing he was found out began rushing them and Brighid found herself following Niamh when he rushed in with a roar. The soldier reached behind them, and Brighid could see him pull something out.

“Long live the KING!”

“MAJESTY!” 

She threw up a barrier as quickly as she could, feeling the explosion rock and blow around them, some of the intensity being reflected back. Niamh had the Whipswords crossed, yelling over the deafening sound. As the smoke cleared, Brighid saw blood drip from the side of Niamh’s face as he peered at the fleeing soldier.

“Get him, damnit!” Niamh called over his shoulder.  
“Eclipse Blade!”

Aegeon appeared from behind a door, blade in hand. He unsheathed it, slashed, then sheathed the blade. The soldier fell to the ground lifelessly. Brighid looked around as she heard a general alarm sound in the palace. Niamh cussed under his breath as he wiped at his face.

“We’ve got a moment to breathe.” Niamh declared. “Though it must be brief.”  
“Was I not fast enough?” Brighid asked.

“Don’t blame yourself Brighid. I wasn’t about to dodge or deflect that.” Niamh admitted, looking down the hall, “I would have risked them all.” He glanced over his shoulder to Niall and Nollaig.

“How are you two?”  
“Just fine, your Grace.” Came Nollaig’s soft voice. “Perhaps a bit shaken, but well.”  
“Excellent. Nollaig, protect your sister-in-law and niece.”  
“R-right, sir!”

“Aegeon,” Niall began, “you and I will go with his Majesty to put down these intruders--”  
“Absolutely not, Niall.” Niamh interrupted. Brighid could feel something about their ether link turn menacing. “You need to protect the Prince, your wife and that baby of yours.”  
“But~”  
“If any of them died today, would you forgive yourself for jeopardizing Mor Ardain’s future?”

“No.”  
“Then I’ll make this decision for you. Aegeon, guard them. If danger starts to near here again, get your Lord, the Prince and the Princess to safety. Hear me?”

“Yes your Majesty.”

Without a word, Niamh began rushing forward. Brighid followed as they rushed through the smoke towards the screams and the rifle fire they could hear. A twitch of his wrist told Brighid that Niamh found their next target and he roared.

“On your mark!”  
“To arms, My Liege!”

“For Uraya!” The blow came high to the left. Niamh moved quickly out of the way, his blade quicker, went through the man’s side. Niamh snarled, and the blade sunk until it hit the heart, then with the blue flames of Brighid, burned through the body to become free of the flesh.

“Degenerates.” Niamh hissed as he rushed forward, “Coming into our home,” he crossed weapons with another man -- a sword to a great axe. He was too far with a blade to reach further. He flicked the wrist of his left hand and the whip sprung forward striking the attacker across the neck, “hurting our family when your soon to be Queen just spoke to you of peace!”

The man fell dead. The drop of a core crystal echoed in the hallway. Niamh pressed forward. Two more men fell to him in his rage, and Brighid struggled to keep up, looking at the blue flames that littered Hardhaigh Palace with a grim worry.

“Niall was happy. He couldn’t stop talking about being a father. He hasn’t been happy like that in years.” Niamh spoke to what she was wanting to ask, “I can’t let them take that!”

“Niall,” she warned, fearing his recklessness, “we need to be careful.”

“I’m not fit to be a father like Niall, Brighid.” Niamh’s eye narrowed when he saw two palace soldiers fighting a Urayan. He rushed over, running the attacker through from behind. “When Aine gave birth and our son laid there not breathing, my first thought was one most terrible.”

Something dark curled around Brighid then. “What was it?”

“Good riddance.” The Emperor lifted his head from his latest kill, looking, listening for more commotion. Satisfied there wasn’t any for a moment he looked to her. “Our baby was dead and I was relieved.” He flicked both swords, holding them out to his side, heaving a breath.

“The responsibility of a parent is not one to take lightly.” She tried to console. Instead she shivered at how eerily quiet Hardhaigh Palace seemed to become, like the prior attack had vanished just as quickly as it seemingly began.

“Emperor Niamh, sir?” One of the soldiers called, interrupting the moment.

Niamh’s attention drew to the two soldiers beside him. “What is it?”  
“It seems the attack stopped.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Most likely Urayan rebels who opposed Raquera’s ascension.”

“Do you think we’re clear of them?” Brighid’s brow furrowed as she spoke the question. These men wore the right uniforms but... Before she could speak to it, Niamh stepped closer.

“We do. It is only a small group who oppose her as heir, after all.”

“Niamh, wait,” Brighid called. He paused to turn his back to them so he could look at her, and Brighid rushed to get him back on his guard, “didn’t Niall say that only a few know that Mor Ardain~” It was like being plunged into the icy waters of Tantal. Something cold spread within her, a strong urge that told her to sleep, to rest. It knocked the wind out of her, had her to her knees. She gasped. She clutched at her chest and looked up to hear Niamh gasping for air, one of his swords dropped, the other in a loosening gasp. He looked at her wide eyed. Pained.

Brighid ignored it, pushed herself back to her feet and called out instead. “Niamh!”

His grip tightened on the one blade he still held. His wrist flicked, the whipsword found its target and in a shower of flames and blood the man who stabbed him was cut down. The other man moved to finish the job, but suddenly seemed stunned with electricity.

“Celestial Flash!” The last attacker fell dead after being electrocuted. Brighid saw Niamh look at his saviour with an appreciative smile before collapsing to the ground. Brighid felt dizzy, and she needed the wall to hold her up as she looked over to Mabon.

“Damn it, they got the Emperor! Vess!”  
“I’m on it!” Vess crouched beside Niamh, and for a second, Brighid felt blinding pain.

“Are you alright Lady Brighid?” Mabon asked, concerned.

“I’m not wounded.” She clawed at the wall, at anything she could to anchor her here. Her brow furrowed, “His Majesty, his majesty is~”

“Mabon!” Vess called over, “she’s trying to keep herself from going dormant.”

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked, panicked.  
Vess glanced down at the Emperor and shook her head, “unless you have a way to fix a lung…”

“Mabon, is that you?” Came Niall’s voice, then at a higher tone, “BROTHER!” Brighid saw Niall kneel at Niamh’s head, looking between him and Brighid. Niamh reached up to bring his brother closer and Niall shook his head mournfully.

“No, no, don’t say that, Niamh, come on…” Niall begged. Her vision was going blurry, filled with blue light. She could feel what the others were beginning to notice though. She was cold. Freezing cold. Her flames were just dying embers. She was babbling almost, though she heard something distinctive above her own mutterings and Niamh’s death rattles.

Niamh coughed up blood, choking on it before whispering. “Your girl...a name?”  
“We were going to wait…” Niall looked over to Brighid, “we wanted your opinions.”  
“Call her...”

Brighid gasped for breath. She missed Niamh’s uttering, but she understood. The girl would be a niece he would never meet, never get the chance to spoil. He wanted to give what he could.

“We can do that.” Niall assured. “She will be as great as you dream, I promise.  
“Thank you…”  
“Do you have any other requests?” 

Niamh didn’t answer. He stared up, gaze bleary and unfocused. Brighid saw Niall’s eyes flick to her as if trying to determine what this meant. She shuddered gulping for air but only felt ice.

“Niamh, please, say something!” Silence still. Though there was the shallowest of breaths there. Niall looked to her, then to Vess as if to order her to do more than she was.

“It-it won’t help, Niall.” He glared at Brighid, and she shivered, colder than ice. “I’m sorry…”  
“How are you still here?”  
“I tried.” Brighid shook her head, trying to resist once more. “I am trying...” 

“Lord Inquisitor,” Vess looked at her, “Lady Brighid won’t be with us for much longer. If there is anything you want to tell her before she returns to her core crystal, the time would be now.”

“He wanted me to name my girl Mórag.” Niall spoke softly, “I hope you get to know her.”

“Thank you…” She shivered as she sank to her knees, feeling defeated and hazy.

‘If only I could have done something. Could have protected them…’ Came the fading thought.

She looked to Niamh, saw his pained expression slacken. His brow smoothed, his lips twitched one final time. A peaceful smile. “Hasn’t there been enough suffering?” She wondered aloud.

She never got her answer. In a flash, everything was gone and there was only sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we'll still get Brighid writing as chapter summaries, by the way, but it will be her reflecting on second hand knowledge for a little bit. :)


	5. Scars of a King Slayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say this is the second shortest dormant period I've had.
> 
> Emperor Niamh died just before year 4031 ended. It is now 4044. Just over twelve years. Emperor Niamh was able to awaken me shortly after I fell with his father, Emperor Ruari during the Third Urayan-Ardainian war. Can you believe there's been three wars now? At least peace seems possible this time.
> 
> Forgive me. I was just told I had these diaries just hours ago. To keep myself busy before now, I've been reading whatever I could find, but history and war aren't the things you want to know about, is it?
> 
> My driver is a woman this time. No. Most would call her a girl. Morag Ladair. I wish I could say more than 'she seems well regarded'. Sadly, she's been sleeping since she awoke me. Emperor Nollaig, Emperor Niamh's half brother claims he would have me help with Gormott, but Lady Morag's condition is delicate. He thinks it best I stay at the palace, in case the worse comes to pass.
> 
> I'm thankful to Lady Ladair, Lady Morag's mother. She gave me my journals, told me that even if this incarnation of me had a fleeting life, I deserved to spend it how I chose.
> 
> So I asked Lady Ladair to tell me about her daughter. My Driver.

The first time Morag Ladair had seen anything but the desert wastes of her home, was when her father brought her and her mother to the capital of the Kingdom of Uraya. Apparently this was for some sort of boring peace talk or something that was taking place in Fonsa Myma. For a child as young as Morag, however, she couldn’t possibly be bothered with such minor details as adults gathered together to talk about the fate of their respective countries. She just had to know it was important, why, and what came from it. All things her parents and tutors could fill her in on. So instead, she and her mother were on the docks, admiring the vast amount of water.

Her mother seemed apprehensive, but it took Morag’s fascination with this concept of puddles to turn her around. Deidra smiled each time Morag drew her attention to another one of those standing bodies of water. She couldn’t help it -- back home, water came in one form and one form only -- steam cooled into condensation. It was always lukewarm, and though refreshing did nothing to cool the body most days. The only time there was a break from the heat was the cold water or the rare time when Macha decided to humour them all by cooling the air with her power. Those opportunities were very far, few and in between.

Fonsa Myma was something all together. Everywhere they looked or turned, Morag heard or saw water running freely. She found the sweaters she ignored from her mother with time -- especially in the nights, necessary, and it made her feel more at ease, more like she belonged as they walked around in the aqueous kingdom. It was only natural that as entranced as she was with the water that she begged her mother to go to the place where ships rested there -- so unlike Mor Ardain where they rested only on the clouds. 

“Mor,” Deidra called her by the familiar pet name. She turned when she heard her mother speak, softly, gently, almost fearful, “come back over here and stay close, please.” She was too busy, fascinated with this concept before her. Fish that swam in water. Such a thing didn’t exist in the desert. The fish instead learned how to live in the sand hundreds of years ago, they said. She leaned over, brushing her hair out of her face, a hand reaching forward, fingers skimming across the pool of water, touching the slickness of fins and scales. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Morag heard someone scream in her direction next. It was startling and it drew her attention, puzzled when she thought the strained voice was her mother’s. Odd. Her mother Deidra never raised her voice at her. Even when she was angry.

“Mórag!” She looked back to her mother on the pier. That was when she noticed him. Morag saw a hand from her left, the shadow of someone much bigger than she was. She felt herself lurch forward, floating. Then she felt the water hit her like a smack to the face.

Everything felt strange. It was wet, cold, and she couldn’t breathe. She struggled and panicked, saw the light growing further away from her before an arm coiled around and lifted her. She felt like she was floating as she coughed and sputtered, looking up and spotting fiery red hair.

“Macha!” She had never heard her mother sound like this before. So full of rage. Deidra got back onto the docks, handing her blade her child to hold. Morag found herself leaning against Macha, her head pressed against the Blade’s core crystal — two crescents with a circular gem between them. It was warming, like a southern wind. Her eyes found her mother’s. For a flash, Morag saw her mother’s eyes narrow as she finished the exchange of child for weapon, stepping away from the Blade that now held Morag securely. 

It was a strange sword that Deidra held -- folded neatly at first, it extended the handle to be long enough to be used two handedly. The blade itself began to extend as well shaping into a curved form like a crescent as it glowed with ether.

“You picked the wrong Ardainian to mess with.” Deidra warned lowly.  
“Mommy?” She coughed and sputtered.  
“Hush love. Mommy is fine, she is not angry at you. Are you alright?”  
“Yes Mommy.”

“Then please be patient, little Mórag.” Deidra spun the handle of the weapon, getting a feel for her scythe. “She’s going to make the bad man go away. Stay with Macha for me, okay love?”

Morag nodded her head as she saw the link between Macha and her mother grow golden. She looked to the man wearing the brown glove she saw earlier and shivered with cold. Her mother rushed just as he pulled a dagger out. Suddenly, Deidra disappeared from view.

“Close your eyes.” Macha told her. She listened, waited, and heard the man scream.

“Harvest Moon!” There was the sound of metal across metal, and then the shattering of glass as a powerful shockwave hit. The man screamed -- loud and blood curdling. 

More commotion followed as citizens ran, screaming about a fight. Soldiers’ boots could be heard marching towards them. Between her fingers, Morag peaked. Plenty of things looked as if they had been thrashed in the winds of a cyclone, and many people nearby were knocked over and watching from afar with concern. Deidra began slowly staking towards the incoming soldiers. The scythe was now a sword. One Deidra wielded slowly, but skilled, as though she had been out of practice. The first soldier crossed blades with Deidra, but she had kicked him in the gut before running him through. He fell lifelessly as she glared with ombre eyes. With a flick, the red that stained the weapon drip off to the white stones at Deidra’s feet.

More running was heard. Deidra disappeared. Two more bodies fell lifelessly. Deidra appeared again as an entire force of soldiers began to surround them. Then a booming voice yelled.

“Stand down, you fools!” It was a young woman. “Do you want us to get into another war?”

Deidra paused, looking up to the speaker, and snarling at a soldier who’s hand still rested on his blade. “Oh come on, if you going to be a big boy~”

“Deidra!” It was her father. “Stand down.” Niall was accompanied by a young, solidly built woman who took his arm. Morag looked at her dark skin, the dark green of her hair and golden eyes. It was the crown and gown that gave it away and everyone in the port began to bow.

Everyone except Deidra.

“Deidra…” Niall warned, though she instead held Queen Raquera’s gaze as she placed the Scythe sword at her hip. “Can you not do this right now, dearest?”

“I do apologize, Niall, but I am not about to bow to her Majesty right after one of her subjects just tried to murder our child.” Deidra gestured to the fallen, bleeding man. Niall pressed a hand to his face and sighed heavily.

“The rumours of your strength is not exaggerated I see.” Queen Raquera remarked.

“Cut the crap.” Deidra returned to Macha and took Morag into her arms, bouncing the young child on her hip. “Emperor Nollaig and yourself officially ended the war two years ago. Meetings like this is to foster the partnership we’re to have. Not breed hostility.”

“Soldiers have stopped fighting, but that does not mean people’s hearts have.” Queen Raquera frowned, then turned to Niall, as if to ask him to reign her in. “Is the man still alive?”

“That’s your problem, not mine.” Deidra scoffed before her husband could speak. “And don’t you dare speak to my husband like he’s my keeper.”

Raquera seemed to take in a sharp breath. “You are just a woman of the court, Lady Ladair.”

“No, I’m mother of the future Empress, a descendant of Empress Caoimhe through Caoimhe Titania.” Deidra flipped some of her still wet hair out of her eyes. “A Lady of the House of Titania, and Niall Ladair’s wife. I was a Captain and I am a Driver, Queen Raquera. Do not speak to me like I am some concubine who’s only place is to push out children for the Emperor’s brother!”

“Deidra~” Niall scolded.

“Don’t ‘Deidra’ me, Niall! Ending the war doesn’t mean we ought to be pushovers.”

“I hardly think the wife of the Kingslayer should be trying my generosity or patience.”

“Then maybe you ought to think of me not as the Kingslayer’s wife, but the sister-in-law you’ll have to deal with if you take Lord Tuireann Titania’s offer. I mean no ill will, nor to jeopardize my brother’s standing, but don’t think for a second I will put up with such~”

“Deidra, watch it!” Niall called out. With that, Morag realized her mother went silent. Stony.

Both women stared each other down, and under the tension, Morag couldn’t help but hide her face. Something about the action seemed to dissipate the tension, so she curled further into her mother and shivered. She felt Deidra’s lips on her forehead and her father sighing heavily.

“Excuse me, your Majesty.” Niall moved away from Raquera, towards his wife and daughter. Morag felt him hover, before there was a rustle.

“Niall, what in the Architect’s name are you doing?” Deidra relented and Morag felt her father’s strong arms take her. Then she was wrapped up in cloth, his scent, and the smell of wine.

“Best you not catch cold. Fonsa Myma gets cold at night, unlike home.” Niall murmured.

Deidra was flushed. “I got out of hand.”

“Quite.” Niall agreed. “I think you forget that you are formidable and that's why you were able to awaken a Blade as powerful as Macha when you were so young.” Morag felt herself be handed to Macha. She could tell because the Blade always smelled like charcoal and burned grain.

“I love her very dearly,” she began, “but Macha is no Lady Brighid.” Deidra noted sourly. Morag found the accusation strange in her mother’s mouth. Her father seemed to think similarly, given his scowl as he looked to his wife, pausing from pulling at his collar.

“Macha is Macha. Lady Brighid is Lady Brighid.”  
“But if I had the power of a Blade like Lady Brighid~”  
“Deidra, love,” Niall interrupted, “we spoke about this already.”

“Lady Deidra, don’t count me out.” Macha noted, and Morag allowed herself to enjoy the raspy purr of the Blade’s voice and curled up close. “With you at my side, give us enough time and I’m sure I’ll be their equal.” There was a rustle, and then her mother spoke. Very low and thready.

“Niall, stop.”  
“You’re shivering.” Niall protested.  
“Niall, don’t be a fool for Uraya.”  
“Well, we have to show a good face somehow, don’t we?”

“Niall, stop it now!” Morag moved the arm of her father’s military jacket to see he was now stripping himself of the shirt underneath. Deidra was turning as red as her hair. “Why do this?”

“An embarrassment for an embarrassment.” Morag heard her father murmur as he stripped himself of his shirt. The group around him gasped at his bare skin, lined with jagged and hastily stitched scars, some still red and fresh, others faded to a light brown or white. He wrapped Deidra in his shirt and she clutched to it, shaking, her eyes on the ground.

“The scars of a Kingslayer, as you so kindly put it, Your Majesty.” He called out to them as he turned around for all to see. “The Prince of Mor Ardain made a fool in your capital’s Harbour, stripped down, baring his chest for you to see the scars of his failures.” There was a buzz now.

“Trading an indecency for another?” Raquera sounded amused.

“Misbehaviour only serves to make both of us look bad. Let Mor Ardain look the bigger fool. Then forgiving my wife of the transgressions of a mother will serve to make you look generous.”

“Very well.” Queen Raquera relented, waving the soldiers down.  
“He’s still breathing.” Deidra muttered shakily. “The man. Barely. I did a number.”  
“You held back?” Raquera sounded genuinely surprised.

“No. I’m out of practice.” Deidra grumbled, still blushing. “Can’t you see my little one was just brought off the tete only a couple of years ago? She can’t swim, Your Majesty. I panicked.”

That earned a chuckle from the Queen. “I will enlist my tutors to teach her. We can’t have her playing by the water without her knowing what to do if she falls in while trying to catch a fish.”

“I’m not about to thank you for that.” 

“You don’t have to. Consider it a peace offering, to a mother from,” Queen Raquera paused, placing a hand by her stomach, “a woman who hopes to become one someday.”

“I wish you well, your majesty.” Deidra replied woodenly.  
“Thank you,” Raquera accepted, “As for the man, we will put him on trial if he lives.”  
“Make sure that you do.” Morag felt her mother swaddle her in her father’s coat.  
“Lady Ladair,” Queen Raquera admonished, “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me that.”

“With all respect, Your Highness,” Deidra moved closer to Niall, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “I don’t think you’re in a position to act like my husband isn’t the biggest reason you have sat on this throne for the last three, nearly four years.”

“I would like to think that most of that had to do with the late Emperor Niamh. A man who wanted suffering, and our war of attrition to end.” Queen Raquera countered. Deidra gritted her teeth at that. “Special Inquisitor Ladair and the Late Emperor may have been planning my ascension, but it was his dying wish that led to my father’s death. You could say the Emperor’s death gifted me the throne, and his brother was just the means to the goal. A well trained tool.”

“How dare you. My husband is nothing like an Ardanian Rott!”

“Your words, not mine, Lady Ladair,” Queen Raquera’s lips twisted upwards, “though it does beg the question: how feral he may be without his elder brother? And how long is that leash?”

Morag felt her mother lurch forward, but both Macha and Niall stopped her, Niall with a strong hand on her shoulder, Macha by standing before her and taking her weapon.

“Your Majesty,” it was her father now, soft spoken, but his voice seemed unnaturally calm to Morag’s ears, like he was pretending, “I assure you I act only on the will of the Crown.” There was a long, pregnant pause between them before Niall pulled Deidra a bit closer. He murmured to her to calm down and kissed her temple. After the silence seemed to prove it’s point, Niall spoke again. “I think we should be taking our leave now.” He bowed, but his gaze was firm as he faced Raquera. “We will be at the residence you’ve prepared if you need to send summons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oopsies. Gotta love slight inconsistencies in canon.
> 
> Torna the Golden Country claims it takes place in 3564. Several times it is said the Aegis war was 500 years ago (before the main game). Not "about 500 years ago." Nope. 500 exactly. Logic dictates then that the main game should have taken place in 4064 then, right?
> 
> HAH! Nope JM. It's 4058 (hey, where the hell did those other six years go?)
> 
> I mean, I suppose 494 years is close enough to say, round up to 500 (Jin. I'm blaming you and Morag's lines for this since you two are some of the worst offenders of stressing '500 years ago' as a point of the Aegis war) but for those of us who like to make stories like this where we think up what a character's early life was like, it makes a headache for figuring out who would be around when and roughly how old they'd be.
> 
> Oh well...
> 
> I'll just headcannon that the Aegis technically started six years before and ENDED in 3564. To spare my brain. XD


	6. Shaky Ground Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am told Lady Morag was... no, she IS a driven by nature. Lady Ladair calls her great and prideful. Lady Caille Beira claims determination is one of her greatest and worst traits. The expression on Lady Caille's face was rather telling.
> 
> In the first decade of her life, Lady Morag was raised as though she was to be the Empress. The throne had been promised to her. It was her life purpose. Practically her identity, it seemed. Suddenly, His Majesty, Emperor Nollaig, who at first had no interest in marriage asked for Siobhan Titania's - Deidra's younger sister - hand in 4041. He began to show signs of moving Mor Ardain into a future many are still trying to grasp.
> 
> I haven't had many conversations with His Majesty, but he has said small things in private. I am convinced his actions are coming from fear. His is a rule met with indignation from nobles who feel slighted by Emperor Ruari and his legitimate sons.
> 
> Lady Deidra Ladair and I had another talk about my Driver today. Morag was already facing opposition simply by being the first girl in generations to be heir to the throne, it seems. Then, the first signs that Morag would no longer be the heir apparent began to trickle in.

“...but should our future really be in the hands of some...girl, My Lord?”

The first time Mórag ever heard those words, it hit her with surprise. Now, it filled her with the sort of rage that reminded her mother, Deidra, of a younger version of Niall. The comment that questioned her future leadership floated as if brought to her by the currents of air itself. At first, she didn’t know if she should react just yet. So she waited, patiently, for the words to continue, the reasons for them to be confirmed as short sighted and narrow. 

“In all honesty, I know you have only recently come to head your house, Lord Beira, but you can’t look at the state of our beloved Empire and not agree. Even Lord Cecil would agree.”

“I don’t, and I would rather prefer you don’t attach mine or Lord Cecil -- your rather incredibly generous sponsor -- names to such opinions, Senator Dougal.” Came the cool, and familiar voice that tickled her memory. Morag paid it little mind as she grit her teeth, lowering her body, close to the ground, trying to keep her body in a straight plank. Screw that man. She hadn’t been going through all these studies for nothing. 

“Have you no pride in our Empire?” It was the Senator who spoke the words, Mórag concluded from the context of the conversation. He was quickly shushed with the follow up comment.

“She would not be the first Empress in our history, Senator Dougal. Have you forgotten?”  
“I know, but we had no other choice then. We paid for it. Dearly.” The Senator insisted. 

“Do you infer Empress Caoimhe was unfit, Senator?” There was danger in those words, “Or what about the likes of women like Lady Andraste, who leads Torrigoth with her father?”

“Of course not!” The senator insisted, worriedly. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

“Then are you inferring something unsavoury about the leadership that descended from Empress Caoimhe, the Ladair House? The same house that has been leading us for generations? The same Empress that my own house descends from?”

“No.” Dougal backtracked. “I would never insult your ancestor or your wife like that, Lord Beira. Nor would I insult the Royal Family. I just worry for our empire being led by a young girl.”

“So you’re anticipating that the Emperor will die young, Dougal?”  
“No! Stop! I would never! Long Live His Majesty Emperor Nollaig Ladair Ardenach!”

There was a sigh, and then a deep hum. “You have no class.” A pause and then Lord Beira added. “Is that why you’re pushing so hard for the Emperor to marry and consummate?”

“Gentlemen!” Mórag paused, holding herself in a low plank when she heard her father’s voice float over to the two men. She heard the clinking of armour. “Lord Beira. Senator Dougal, what brings you both here to defame the Heiress in front of the home of her father?”

“Lord Ladair, good morning.” Cian Beira. Mórag knew the name and the rumours they claimed about him. That he was a strange and unsavoury man. Some say he lacked the true patriotism that an Ardainian needed. That he was peculiar with strange ideals, putting all the money he earned in his service to the military and inherited from his father to fund odd research for making strange mechanical contraptions. Others claimed he was only still part of the Ardainian court because the blood of him and his father was one of the few links to the first and only Empress that Mor Ardain ever knew. A woman born just after the Aegis war to Emperor Hugo‘s brother. A woman who birthed the very dynasty that Mórag herself had descended from. Consequently, he had a distant claim to the throne and with the Ladair line being as weak as it was in the last few decades, the Senate thought it prudent to keep the House of Beira close.

“Good morning, Cian.” Niall voiced. Morag noticed her father pause, like he was silently appraising, no, judging. “Got anything to say for yourself, or are we going to be spurring more of those lovely rumours you like fueling?”

“Let their tongues wag.” What soured opinions on Cian Beira was that he had relations with a woman of Gormott’s noble houses. Some say when the recent war finally ended it would hardly matter -- Gormott would belong to the Empire officially. Not Uraya, who had fought bitterly about the expansion, but Mor Ardain. “I was merely correcting young Senator Dougal on some terrible misconceptions he had. I am~”

There was weight on her back. Morag fell right into the hot, red soil. She tasted the dirt soon after, and she heard laughter from over to her left. Familiar laughter. Her mother’s laughter.

“Uff.” She murmured into the soil, getting a mouthful for her trouble. “Macha. Get. Off. Me.”

“Good enough, Macha.” Came the musical tones of her mother’s voice. “I think Mór gets the message about how dirty a habit eavesdropping is.” The weight lifted and Macha giggled before suddenly disappearing. Deidra’s footsteps were heavy, like she wore the boots of a soldier. They clunked on the ground, and Mórag looked up to find her mother humming brightly, her long red hair braided expertly, her lips rouged as she looked to Niall and Cian, moving closer to them both. She was wearing slacks today, not some form of gown or skirt. 

Macha soon appeared behind Deidra and peaked around to wave at Mórag.

“Gentlemen, good morning to you all!” Deidra called to them loudly, making Mórag freeze in her spot in the dirt. She rolled on her back to look up and watch. Cian took Diedra’s hand then dipped his head to kiss the back of it. Deidra rolled her eyes at the display. “Cian, please. I’ve known you since you were a small boy. Isn’t it time you stop treating me like I’m ethereal?”

“But you’re Lady Deidra Ladair now. Respect where respect is due.” Cian deferred.  
“Oh? Me being able to kick your arse when I served wasn’t owing of enough respect?”

“Haha, very well Deidra, C’mere!” Cian spared a glance to Niall who nodded, and opened his arms. Deidra hugged him tight for a few moments. Then they pulled away, holding each other by the forearms. Cian kissed both her cheeks. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Six years of letters? I’ve been spending too much time in Torrigoth. As you’ve probably heard, that’s begun to change in the last couple years. I’ve been basing myself in Alba Cavanich more.”

“Oh, is that so? Did you return home empty handed with your tail between your legs?”  
“Not at all.” Cian promised, “You could say I have information for the Emperor and a girl.”  
“Simply incorrigible as always.” Deidra huffed.

“Lady Andraste’s dreams gleefully of slitting me open, I’m sure.” His laugh was strained. 

“Titan’s foot. You’ve angered her enough to murder you? What did you do now, Cian? Who did you lay with?” Deidra chuckled and smacked his chest. “You damn Fool!”

“I’ll explain later. Preferably over mead.” Cian deferred. “Or perhaps something stronger?” He paused. “Probably stronger.” Deidra tittered with a laugh. “Has Niall kept you out of trouble?”

“I prefer a warm bed, Lord Fool!” Niall gave a toothy grin as Deidra smacked his arm.  
“Both of you are fools, honest!” Deidra scoffed. “You’re perfect. Off and marry each other!”

“Lady Ladair,” the young Senator cleared his throat catching the attention of the three. He seemed annoyed at how they branched off into their own conversation, “I do apologize but we were just having a discussion,” Senator Dougal stressed, “about the future of our Empire’.”

“I’d be happy to comment,” Deidra smirked, turning to face the senator with her hands behind her back. “if you’d have me.” Her voice was sweet. Mórag knew that smirk. It spelled trouble.

“That’s quite alright. I was seeking your husband and Lord Beira’s input really.”

“On the determinants of women as leaders, was that right Senator Dougal?” Morag could practically hear her mother grinning, like a cat toying with its prey, “you know, you’re even younger than the Emperor. For such a young man, it’s astounding how narrow your views are.”

Morag felt more than she saw her mother’s steps, nearing closer. She held her breath not sure what to do as Deidra neared. Senator Dougal, for his worth, attempted to dig out of the hole he had created so far, using his rather ineffective words.

“I think you misunderstand.” He tried. “My concern is that the Heir is so young and we still feud with Uraya over our official seizure of Gormott Province. Sure, we are currently in parlay but a great deal of things could happen in such a vulnerable position.”

“Careful of wandering ears, Senator.” Deidra intoned lightly. “Your shit stinks.”

“I respect that you are now Lady Ladair, Deidra Titania, but at the end of the day you~” Deidra scoffed loudly, reaching down to grab Mórag by the arm. Mórag hissed but allowed herself to be pulled by her arm to her feet. It was quick enough to see the Senator blanche with fear.

“I -- Princess Mórag.” He stuttered, then failed for words. “I...It’s good to see you, Majesty.”

“Sure.” Mórag crossed her arms, and her mother placed both hands on her shoulders. Deidra leaned over, dipping her head low so that her breath tickled her daughter’s ear.

“Mór, my great and prideful girl.” She heard her mother chide. “Behave love. This is all a part of the Grand Game that people like you and I will always have to play.” Mórag scowled. Deidra added more gently, “He’s an arse. So act with grace. Let his own tongue ruin him.”

“Good day Senator.” Mórag obliged, shooting her mother a dark look. Deidra grinned at her as she straightened up like she had never told her daughter anything.

The man paused before speaking. “How much did you hear just now?”

“Goodness!” Came a very loud scoff. “Go home, man, before you make yourself look the fool you are.” Lord Beira warned. The Senator looked at the brilliantly blue eyed man for a long time, then scoffed before brushing past him. “Excuse me! Are you blind as well as daft?”

“A man who can have a woman tell him he is the father of her child years after the fact is hardly worth respecting!” Dougal was gone before Lord Beira could respond, but he seemed annoyed, stroking his black beard. 

Cian sighed before looking to the family. “Apologies.”  
“Glad to know MacDougal is going to be a pain.” Niall sighed, looking to Cian.  
“May I humbly suggest, Special Inquisitor, that he is dealt with?”  
“Eager to hedge the competition from the Senate, Cian?” Niall raised an eyebrow.

“No. Merely concerned about our country’s stability and longevity.” Cian countered, voice crisp and polite as he watched the Senator’s departure, “my sweet Andraste and her father have this saying. ‘Loose ends are a noose waiting for a neck.’ There’s wisdom in that Gormotti thought.”

“Morbid.” Niall sniffed.  
“Poignant.” Cian smiled brightly. “They don’t want to be blindsided unnecessarily.”

“Very well Lord Beira, I’ll consider the suggestion.” Niall tapped his wrist and looked towards the Palace gates. “As for you? It’s about time you prepare your next report to His Majesty.”

“I will, sir.” Cian agreed, about to turn when Mórag called out to him.

“Lord Beira,” he paused in his steps and Mórag continued, “you’re the one who's been making diplomatic trips to Gormott as his Majesty’s liaison, yes?” He nodded. “What’s it like?”

“Lushious. Green. More beautiful than I have words.” He paused, pursing his lips, his brilliant eyes glowing as it imagined it. “The scientists I’ve escorted say Gormotti lands could support all of the Empire with ease.” Then there was something akin to pain there in his expression.

“Forever?” Morag pressed innocently.

“Perhaps not forever.” Lord Beira admitted solemnly. “Gormot may succumb to the same sickness as our Titan, but our most esteemed scholars believe we will have dozens of generations before that becomes an imminent issue.” 

“So then, why not move up the plan to move the capital there?” Morag questioned.

“Moving is no small feat, Your Highness. We must be certain Gormot is as ready as we are. A house on weak foundation can’t even resist wind.” Lord Beira sighed. “The Gormotti are proving stubborn and becoming bitter. They refuse to accept the new status quo. So we are being diligent. Hopefully it will be enough.” He rested a hand on his hip, where a set of strange hook like blades rested. Mórag wondered where the Blade they were associated with was. As if reading her mind, Cian spoke. “Cusith is with my daughter.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter, Lord Beira.”

“Neither did I at first.” He laughed but it felt hollow. “Her mother is a Gormotti noblewoman who’s family leads Torrigoth. Andraste Saets.” His eyes seemed both gentle and sad. “We married nine years ago.” He stared off into the distance, sighing softly.

“You didn’t get married before you had your daughter?”  
Deidra sighed. “Mor, don’t pry.”

“It’s fine, Deidra.” The man flushed. “Loving someone who is a part of a former country that the Empire was at war with is complicated, Your Highness, both for one’s heart and mind, but I do have my hopes.” He explained very gently. “Since Andraste and I remained on relatively healthy terms, the Emperor suggested we ought to make it official, so we did." He gave her a lopsided smile. "Making my daughter my Heir, unofficially and now officially since the marriage, though late, legitimized her by His Majesty's decree. Kind of like with you in a sense, being Emperor Niamh's issue and now Emperor Nollaig's. It's not common with the Noble Houses to have a woman as heir either. It's not just true of the throne."

"I know, Lord Beira."

"Of course you do. You're a very insightful young lady. I speak only to hope you may be curious about my girl and wish to meet her someday, but that is a father being selfish. Pardon me, Your Highness." He chuckled, and straightened up. "Andraste and I, despite our many faults, one day I want to see us as a display, no, as an example for all of Mor Ardain and Gormott living and moving forward together, side by side, under the great flag of the Empire. Of what that can look like.” He waved it off. “Forget it for now, though. Your Highness, how old are you?”

“I just turned ten, Lord Beira.”

“Ten already? My. What a precocious age.” Lord Beira reflected, his vivid eyes flickering to Niall with mirth. “My little Caille is thirteen. She was gravely ill, but finally recovering.” He smiled gently at that. “Perhaps, if the Lord Inquisitor wills it, she can meet Your Highness sometime?”

“Possibly, but not at this moment.” Niall tapped at his wrist. “Your Audience with his Majesty?”

“Of course. I will work hard if it means an opportunity for Caille to make a friend. She’s been such a sullen girl since I brought her here.” Cian Beira held his gaze with Mórag, then sighed.

“Wait, Cian,” Deidra suddenly caught on, “that’s the girl you brought here? Your child? But wh~”

“I hope Emperor Nollaig will excuse my tardiness!” He suddenly exclaimed, turning on heel and waving. “Have a good day!” Cian practically ran off.

With him gone, Niall sighed. His hand resting on his hip. “That sounds like quite the story.” Niall sighed and spoke lowly. “Suppose we should be make a date for some rum. Let him explain what in Amalthus’ name his Gormotti born child is doing on Mor Ardain.” Niall made a face. “I swore the agreement was that she was to be primarily Andraste’s ward.” Then, in almost a whisper. “Architect, that already sounds like a mess. What did he get himself into now?”

“Cian never seems to lack energy, or trouble, does he?” Deidra asked, walking beside Niall. Deidra glanced over her shoulder, her ombre eyes landing on Mórag. “We should tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

Niall looked cagey. His entire body tensed, he looked between wife and child worriedly before resting his hand on Aegeon’s blade. A nervous tick of his, Morag recognized.

“Let’s take this… a little closer to the manor.”

Morag didn’t like it. Didn’t like what his tension, what his hesitance could mean. She liked it even less when she saw Deidra acquiesce without even a single point of argument.

Something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one is coming very soon, promise.  
> Feel free to leave a review!
> 
> You can chat with me over on Discord. Corvidae 2875.


	7. Shaky Ground Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm beginning to understand something. It's what Lord Beira calls my inevitable curiosity. I wished Aegeon was here so I could ask him, but it seems his crystal has yet to glow. I've been told I always appreciated his philosophical nature, and now more than ever I want to ask for his opinions on so many things.
> 
> What does it mean really mean when people claim I am as I always use to be? What does it mean to have a self if what everything is built on is taken away from you? 
> 
> For me, it is my memories. For Lady Morag, it was the throne. For Lady Deidra Ladair it was being a wife and mother. For the Beira family... I don't know their story, but I have my guesses. Things that aren't said in the long pauses when Cian Beira stares at his daughter when he thinks she doesn't notice. She does, but she plays along.
> 
> My point is, many think in these moments, when you are stripped of so much is when you discover who you are. Maybe that's the case for those who get so wrapped up in the world, but for me I always wondered if losing your foundation means losing yourself.
> 
> Maybe that is why Lady Morag is such a curiosity. Given the stories, it seems despite her loss, she has never lost herself.

In sight of the house, far from anyone but servants, Morag suddenly found both of her parents far too quiet for her liking. They kept exchanging glances. They kept trying to talk before one of the other either simply stopped or was interrupted by the other one.

“What is it?” She couldn’t take the silence any more. “Is the Emperor sick?”  
“No.” Deidra assured.

“Has he gone mad or something?” That would be a reason for keeping things quiet, right?  
“Brother is in good health and mental acuity.” Niall assured. He went quiet, not continuing.

“Are we about to start fighting Uraya again?” Morag tried again.  
“At this time,” Niall shook his head, “no.”  
“Then what is it!?”

“The Jewel of Mor Ardain is glowing again.” Deidra started. “Faintly for now. Emperor Nollaig believes though that it will glow full force in short order.” She sighed, turning to her side, and Macha was there in an instant, brushing off her skirt and sparing Mórag a smile.

“So I will finally be able to wake her up?” Mórag asked curiously. “It would be a pleasure to finally meet her after all the stories you and father told me.”

“He…” Niall’s face looked pinched, “thinks you’re too young.”  
“Niall, don’t lie to her.” Deidra hissed.

Niall sighed. “His Majesty has made an unusual request.” Niall admitted, “one that hasn’t been sitting too well with the Senate or the rest of the noble Houses, but,” he sighed, interrupting himself, “he wants to take the Core Crystal to Indol.”

“But we’ve never taken the Jewels of Mor Ardain to Indol.” Morag looked at him, gaping slightly, then frowned, “that’s been our tradition for generations. Why would he change that?”

“Your uncle worries that it’s becoming too hard to awaken Lady Brighid. That this has contributed to why there are so few noble families now.” Deidra’s voice was soothing but her expression was blank, as if she was trying not to be read.

“So?” Morag frowned. “I’ve been dedicating myself since I was young to be Empress. This is part of what my training is for, isn’t it? I’ll work until I’m worthy. We don’t need the Indoline Pratorium. That’s why you and Aegeon have been training me ever since I could hold a sword, hasn’t it, father?” Mórag didn’t know what it was, but her father just seemed incapable of being comfortable right now. His hand twitched. He kept sending Deidra strange looks and she in turn kept looking at Macha. All together it was odd. She didn’t know why her parents seemed so cagey and upset, but it was making Mórag feel like she needed to crawl out of her own skin.  
“His Majesty says it’s for insurance purposes. The Indoline Praetorium can make it easier for one to become a driver. Plus, the pilgrimage is said to be good for both body and mind. See it as a test, Morag, of your character.” Niall reassured. Suddenly it clicked.

“He doesn’t want me to have Lady Brighid.” Morag stared at him.  
“Mor…” Niall sighed, looking pained.  
“But he said~”

“I know you spoke to His Majesty about joining the army.” Deidra derailed. “That won’t happen.”  
“Ex-excuse me?” Mórag took a moment to find her voice to protest. “Why not?!”

“You need to stay where it is safe, Mórag.” Mórag locked her jaw as Deidra turned to her. “It’s for the best, ultimately. With the way things are going, if the Emperor began to see you as a the~”

“I asked for Uncle’s permission not yours.” Deidra took two large steps back. “He told me yes. He was fine with it.” Mórag flinched as she saw her mother’s left hand twitch, just over her hip. Macha looked to Deidra then to Mórag. Mórag could feel something shift in the air. Ether.

“You are currently the sole and only issue of the Empire.” Deidra noted, her eyes cold.

“Wait, currently?” Mórag questioned incredulously. “What do you even mean by that?” 

“His Majesty will marry Siobhan Titania in a few weeks.” Niall spoke up. Morag froze. Wait. No.

“I’m still a Ladair!” Morag insisted. “Part of the Royal Family! If I were to awaken Lady Brighid~”

“My little sister is not yet pregnant.” Deidra murmured, staring at the ground, kicking at it petulantly. “When she finally does become so though, Lady Brighid may go to this child, if the Emperor does not take her for himself.”

Mórag stood, stunned. “Just...like that? After everything? The lessons? The training?”

“Don’t worry your head, sweet Mórag. All will work out.” Deidra didn’t sound confident, Mórag found, and her lie suffered for it. She scowled at her mother before closing her eyes.

“Well if it doesn’t work out, what’s wrong with serving our people in our military?”  
“It’s too dangerous.” Deidra dismissed. “Makes you visible to the people. More visible than an Emperor on his throne. Paints a target on your back.”

“Uncle didn’t think so, and I asked him, not you.” Mórag echoed. “Who are you to stop me?”

“I’m your mother.” Deidra whispered. “I’m Titania the Reaper.”  
“So?” Mórag challenged. “You earned that title years ago. You haven’t seen battle since.”

“Why do you want to leave so badly?” Deidra questioned. “Do you need to feel like you belong somewhere if you can’t have what should be yours?” Something about the question stung, and it seemed as much of a dig at Mórag as it was towards Deidra herself. Mórag couldn’t put her finger on it, but years in Hardhaigh Palace had made her restless for the things Deidra would talk around. “Believe me my sweet love, if my womb was capable of giving you siblings, I would have. It would have saved everyone grief.”

“That’s not it at all!” Mórag was losing patience with this. Deidra’s logic and grated at her. “I will do this with or without your approval!”

There was a hard beat of silence. One where Deidra was shaking her head before covering her face with a hand and inhaling sharply. Niall was watching them before edging closer to his wife, concern written all over his face.

“Maybe we should go back inside. Maybe have some tea?” Niall suggested. “Calm down a bit?”

“I didn’t want you to carry it.” Deidra heaved the breath that rested heavy on her chest. “The anger of being jilted because of the whims of a man. Being denied your potential because a baby boy was born before a woman could sit the throne, or lead a house!”

“You’re the eldest of House Titania.” Morag remembered her mother mentioning that before.

“Years between us, yet there is a Lord Titania instead of a Lady!” Deidra hissed. “Just like there was an Emperor Ruairi instead of an Empress Caoimhe the second!”

“You mean Caoimhe Titania?” Mórag found her mother flinch at the question, but she did nod. 

“She should have sat the throne after her Grandmother as the eldest grandchild when her Aunts and mother all said no. That was the plan. The agreement!” Deidra hissed, “But then her cousin, Ruairi was born days before Caoimhe Titania’s coronation.” Deidra growled, “And just like that, Empress Caoimhe went back on her word just like Emperor Nollaig is doing now!”

“Deidra,” Niall interjected, “surely that isn’t what my brother intends. There is no child yet. He has told me he has no intention of them taking Mórag’s place.” Mórag found herself shrinking under the look her mother gave her father. “He only means to protect the crown by ensuring there is no crisis of ascension after him should something happen.”

“So he’s expecting tragedy to befell on our child?” Deidra accused.

“What, no!” Niall protested. “He would never wish harm on Mórag. We just can’t be too careful. My father had three boys in his life. Niamh is dead. If Niamh was the only child my father had~”

“We wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if you just took the throne instead of letting a your father’s bastard do it in your stead, Niall!” Deidra scoffed at him, coldly. “If you were Emperor, Mórag would be Empress. It would never be contested. Nollaig would have had the quiet life he wanted too.”

“That was out of line, Mother.” Mór found her voice boomed over the quiet, razor sharp ice that Deidra’s voice had become. She looked at the two of them. First at her father -- who though he seemed angry, seemed at a loss and sad. It was the gaze of a man who felt he failed his family. Then when she looked to Deidra, she saw a cold fury and something akin to fear.

“I don’t want you to know it.” Deidra murmured. “That pain of trying to keep yourself important to the Empire even though you’re nothing more than a womb to give insurance for the throne.” She bit her lower lip, looking off to the red soil of the wasteland. “I hate it, Morag!” She chuckled lowly. “I’m sure you’ve heard what they say. That Niall should get himself a whore or remarry. That I’m spoiled.”

The dots suddenly came together. The rumours she heard, the whispers people would say about her father, how he failed the Empire by not choosing to carry on his lineage by staying with Deidra. That she was a leach to the Empire. “You can’t have children anymore.”

“This is suppose to be your time. You were suppose to have more, be more than Grandmother. Than me, even.” Deidra seemed to collect herself. “Now you’re just going to be another womb.”

“I will have my time.” Mór insisted resolute. “If I prove myself.”  
“You really think that’s going to change the stubborn heart that is our Empire?”

“Well,” Mórag leveled her gaze at Deidra, “if you ask me, mother, trying to change the heart of our Empire is much better than sitting still, doing nothing and being bitter about it.”

“MACHA!”

There was a flash of light. A sword, thick and heavy, appeared in Mór’s hand. Her father had been shoved to the ground and her mother bounded towards her, swinging with such speed that Mórag found herself breathless when she barely dodged. The follow up cut strands of her hair and sliced a cut along her ear, and it was then that Mór felt her brain catching up.

Her grip tightened and when her mother swung again, she managed to parry the blade, grunting at the strain it put on her arms. Then she was knocked back by the blowdown. 

“Fine! You want to leave?” Deidra questioned, slamming her sword down in a brutal arc. Morag’s eyes widened when she barely managed to roll out of the way. “Leave! Go on and prove yourself like a big girl!” Deidra screamed, ombre eyes wild. Morag rushed to her feet just as Deidra went for another swing, “but first you’re going to have to manage to get a hit on me!”

Mórag’s arms shook under the force of of Deidra’s swing. She felt the adrenaline hit her, and then the fear. Her father, she could see in her periphery Niall rushed back to his feet. He whistled, and Mór spotted white. Aegeon.

“Don’t you dare Aegeon!” Macha warned, voice a sing song. The other blade frowned, his katana drawn, passing it to his Driver. Niall pointed it threateningly at Macha’s crystal. “Come on now Lord Ladair.” Her vermillion eyes glinted. “Do you think Lady Deidra would go that far?”

“I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into her head.” Niall admitted lowly. “This is absurd!”

“If Mórag can’t even land a blow on me, Niall,” Deidra called from her latest assault, “what chance does she have against anyone?” Deidra’s wrist flicked, and the handle of her weapon grew, then the blade curved. She swept with the curve of her swipe barely missing Mór’s stomach. “If she wants to run off to play soldier, then she’s got to prove she’s not weak!”

“Damn it!” Mórag hissed as she felt the cloth of her clothes rip. Her skin seemed unscathed though. For now. Mór frowned when her mother kept following up. Mórag was forced on the defensive, the long reach of the weapon preventing her from getting into striking distance.

“Careful, Lady Mórag, these are live weapons after all.” Macha giggled.

“I thought you were going to prove yourself!?” Deidra demanded. Mórag winced when she blocked the latest heavy blow, locking her jaw. “Well? Where’s your strength?”

“I don’t want to fight you!” Mórag yelled back. “I don’t want sit idle and I don’t want to end up like you!” She saw it then, when she barely managed to slip Deidra’s scythe. It landed heavy in the ground. Deidra hesitated for a moment. It was Morag’s opening. Her blade barely brushed her mother’s cheek before Deidra suddenly disappeared, then reappeared beside Niall.

Deidra eyes weren’t angry anymore. Just wide and sad. She turned the Scythesword back to its sword form and placed it by her hip. Mórag found her weapon disappeared in a mist of golden particles of ether. Deidra was breathing hard, her head turned to the heavens.

“Have I failed you?” Deidra breathed, her eyes falling close as she pressed her finger tips to her eyes. Her shoulders hitched. Then fell. She sighed. 

“Mother?”  
“Do as you wish.” Deidra turned on heel and began heading back towards their residence.

“Why? What changed your mind?”

“If I could have birthed you as a boy,” Deidra paused, mid step, staring up into the sky, “all of this would have been easier. So much so.” Deidra hissed lowly.

“What does that have to do with anything?”  
“Nothing, and everything.” Deidra answered cryptically. “I think you’ll do many great things.”

Deidra returned back to their residence with Macha leaving both Mórag and her father alone with Aegeon. Niall looked to where his wife stood moments ago and then to his daughter. Bewildered and confused at the whiplash of mood that all of this sudden conflict with her mother brought, Mórag didn’t even try to fight when her father moved close and gathered her to him. She held onto him very tightly. Not crying, but shaking from adrenaline that was dropping.

“Shh, it’s okay. You did well. She’s proud of you, Mórag.” He promised. “You will be as great as you want to be, in however way it happens, and I’m sure it will be greater than anything Niamh, your mother and I would have ever dreamt for you.”

She allowed herself to cry just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far and I'd be happy to hear from you!


	8. Training Grounds Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Caille tells me the first time she met Lady Morag was almost a year ago. 4043. The day had started unremarkably for my Driver. Training with her father, Lord Inquisitor Niall, led to Lady Morag visiting one of the military bases. Lady Caille was not forthcoming to how she ended up in her predicament, but Lady Morag rushed in when she saw someone was being hurt to help.
> 
> I am told by Lady Ladair that Lady Morag became very fixated on how things were conducted in regards to the Gormott Province recently. She believes Cian Beira's 'halfbreed' child is the reason. I have my opinions on who Lady Caille is versus how she is treated by the Royal Court, but I shall write on that another time. Lady Morag has good reason to be concerned about Gormott. It's beauty and resources are what the Empire needs as our Titan dies, but our people's blatant feelings of entitlement and belief that ownership is as simple as us winning the wars with Gormott and Uraya is somewhat unsettling. 
> 
> Winning a war does not win peoples' hearts. Gormott currently belongs to the Empire in name only. There is a bitterness in the Gormotti people that seems self destructive. Lady Caille carefully tiptoes around it when she speaks of the matter.

“Don’t think, Mór! Do!” Niall commanded. She inhaled, quickly, sharply, lifting the blade a bit higher, feeling a vibration in her arms when Aegaeon struck, clenching her jaw. He struck again and she could feel her defence break.

“Stop thinking!” Niall yelled. Aegeon went for a strike. She felt fear in her gut and moved, just barely. Enough to be missed by the blow. He went to strike again, and Mórag dodged again. Two more strikes ended that way.

“Running away now are we?” Aegeon muttered, going for the thrust. Mórag moved to the side and saw it. So did her father too.

“No point in dodging if you aren’t going to do something!” Niall yelled over, “Stop overthinking!”

Her father was right. Playing the game of who had the most stamina would lead her to being hurt more often than it would help, and Aegeon knew it. Against an opponent like him, a Blade, it was clear who would likely be on the losing end. She saw it then, each time she was barely missed was an opportunity to strike back if she looked for it.

Aegeon shifted, aiming high this time. Barely missing her neck. Her blade rested by his now.

“There we go!” Niall clapped his hands together. “That’s good enough for today you two. Mórag, you’ve become excellent at reading an opponent’s moves. I’m really impressed with how you’ve used that skill and your agility to your advantage.”

She glowed under his praise. “Thank you father.” She watched her Chroma Katana disappear in golden light while Aegeon threw his to her father. Niall caught it effortlessly, brushing his dark hair -- now beginning to grow grey at the temples -- from his face.

“Aegeon,” the Blade nodded, “would you be so kind as to go home and check in on Deidra?”  
“Of course, Lord Ladair.” With that the Blade had left them alone, leaving them in the Palace Base together, watching the sand and dust whip around their boots.

“Let’s take a break and a walk.” She nodded, falling into step with him as they walked around the military base. He seemed to be a great deal lighter than she had remembered since she began her training with the military two years ago. He was smiling even.

“How is mother doing?” She asked. The smile faltered.

“Deidra has been well. Or as well as she can be. She’s been telling me not to bother with her.”  
“Not to bother?” Mórag sighed. “Has she at least been eating?”

“Macha claims so.” Niall admitted. “Her word is all I have these days. She has been eating and training. Beyond that she rarely sees anyone, save see her sister, your aunt, Queen Siobhan. 

“That’s not healthy.” Mórag noted gently. “So what does she expect you to do?”

“Find another woman and have her bear children for me.” Niall spoke softly. Mórag looked at him like he had grown another head. “I’m not kidding. We argued that one recently.”

“She can’t be serious?” Mórag questioned.

“I think she is.” Niall rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Cian tells me she’s not doing well and I should try to do something more firm, but Deidra and I never worked well when I tried to force her hand. We both just get bloody angry with each other.” He sighed. 

“Lord Beira said that?” Mórag wasn’t sure what to feel about that. She settled for unease.

“He’s the only person she sees regularly. I’ve just come to accept he’s better than no one. I shouldn’t bother you with all that though, Mórag, that is a matter for your parents, not you.” Niall sighed again. “Look, just know, being a mother was a very important thing for her.”

“But then I grew up.”  
“Yes.” Niall huffed, blowing his hair into the air, “unfortunately there won’t be any siblings.”  
“Well she still is a mother.”  
“But it’s different now, when your child doesn’t need you as much.” Niall sighed. “Speaking of...”

Mórag paused and asked the question that bothered her. “Aunt Siobhan is pregnant again. Isn’t she?” Her father sighed and nodded. “How many months now has it been?”

“Four. The physicians say she’s out of the most dangerous time for miscarriage now.”  
“Already?” Mórag was genuinely surprised. “That’s the longest she’s managed.”  
“That it is.” Niall dipped his head, his bright blue eyes thoughtful. “I pray for her health.”  
“Is she gravely ill this time too?”  
“Strangely not.” Niall admitted slowly. “Which is just as well. Nollaig worries over her greatly.”

“Well, I’m happy for her.” Mórag replied simply. “She really does wish to be a mother.”  
“Are you truly happy?” Niall searched her face for answers and she tried to keep it neutral.  
“I mean, all my life I’ve heard I’ll be an Empress, but father,” Mórag sighed, “I made a promise.”  
“What kind of promise?” He asked gently, pausing to look her over.

“To not become bitter like my mother has.” Mórag admitted. “I grew up with expectations placed on me and that I placed on others but none of those were ever guaranteed, were they?”

“You are twelve, Mór. There is no need to act older than you are.” Niall noted in a low voice. 

“What happens though?” Morag paused, “Emperor Niamh’s will says if the child is a girl, I should still be~”

“Listen.” Niall shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands though behind his back, fidgeted. “In a few days, His Majesty is releasing a decree.” She could see it in his shoulders and how they tensed and release, “He will no longer be Emperor Nollaig Ladair Ardenach. From here on in he will be Emperor Nollaig Ardenach. He’s dropping the Ladair name.”

Mórag stared at her father blankly. “Meaning what, exactly?”  
“Well,” Niall worked his jaw, “if the child is not given the Ladair name at all…”

“What does it mean if he’s taking Ardenach as an actual name?” Mórag frowned, “didn’t you say Ardenach was a title in the old tongue?” A pause. It hit her then, and she shook like a leaf.

“It would be a new House.” Niall’s shoulders rose towards his ears then dropped. “I’m sorry.”  
“And mother?” Mórag asked about the topic they kept dancing around “what does she think?”

“Your mother knows. She’s furious. Siobhan let it slip by accident during tea with Deidra. Their brother says he is concerned their relationship will not mend from this.” They fell silent as they headed towards the Barracks. There was noise, loud and booming. The sort that caught Niall’s ear and Mórag watched silently as her father raised an eyebrow and beckoned her to follow.

There was a gaggle of them. Some in armour. Some not. All en masse like they were surrounding something, or, judging by the deep frown on her father’s face as he saw them, someone. Mórag found when they got a little closer as it made it possible to see a form curled up on the ground, covering their head with their hands. She could make better sense of the situation now, and it certainly wasn’t a good one as she saw the soldiers kick and scream at the downed soldier on the ground. Her heart leapt in her throat with worry.

“Are they…” she was trying to find a reason that made this more innocuous, “hazing?”

“That is no hazing ritual. Look at their blows,” Niall murmured and she did just that, noticing the sharpness, “that’s a mob looking for blood.” Niall’s hand rested by his Chroma Katana.

“Something like you shouldn’t be serving our Empire as a soldier!” She heard one man scream.  
“Know your place! You belong at our feet you fleabag!” Came another.  
“You kid yourself if you thought the Empire was going to let a dirty Gormotti in the military!”

“Gormotti?” Mórag’s eyes widened and before her father could stop her, she rushed forward, quickly, seeing a younger soldier on the ground, also in uniform. Mórag couldn’t make out the face -- it was too covered in blood. Without thinking, she pushed one of the soldiers out of the way. He grunted in annoyance and hit her with the back of his hand -- still covered in armour. She tasted blood but it only renewed her resolve as she latched for his arm, and in an instant, had it twisted and flipped him so the soldier toppled over her shoulder.

Mórag saw the soldier the group had been attacking suddenly launch to their feet. The screaming was even louder now as a swift and hard kick connected with the ribs of one of the attackers. Mórag was sure she heard a loud crack, but had no time to think about it when she saw the injured soldier get knocked to the ground again. She saw movement in her periphery and tensed. A man went to lift his Steamrifle about to hit her with the butt of it, but he was blasted back with a jet stream of water, knocking two others down with him.

“ENOUGH!”

The soldiers all turned, and shook. One of them was brave enough to put the pieces together for the rest of them, teeth clattering in fear as he looked over the stern form of Niall Ladair.

“Special Inquisitor Ladair.” There were whispers, frantic ones.  
“But it that’s the Special Inquisitor...”  
“The girl Alastair just hit is. Oh. Shit.”  
“That’s the Princess, isn’t it?”

“Silence!” Niall demanded, pointing his blade at them. “At attention, all of you!” They all lined up and snapped a quick salute. “Is this any way for our proud Military to be conducting ourselves?” They were smart enough not to answer. “By time I am done, I promise to the Architect you will wish that I had thrown you worthless lot out of our ranks!” 

Niall sheathed his blade and looked to Mórag. “Can you look after things here for a moment? I need to have a quick chat with their commanding officer”

“Of course, father.”  
“And Mórag,” Niall paused, “I am proud, but try not to be so reckless.”  
“Sorry father.”  
“Go now.”

Mórag was by the side of the soldier they were injuring before. It was a young woman now that she had a better look beyond the long, raven black hair. She was shaking, and slowly removed her hands from the top of her head to wipe away at the blood covering the entirety of her face. Where her hands once were, Mórag saw two black cat like ears. Gormotti ears, which, judging by how frayed and torn they looked, were badly injured. Mórag didn’t need to figure out why. Slowly, she moved closer to see the young woman breathing harshly.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” 

Mórag backed off, showing both hands high in the air. From beneath the dark hair and blood, she could see strangely bright and fascinating teal blue eyes that nearly glowed, looking at her, assessing her. With her sleeve, the girl wiped her face free of as much blood as she could. Mórag could see that her skin was not as dark as a Gormotti, nor did it have the undertone. Rather, it was lighter and had the undertone of an Ardainian. As her hand moved from her head, Mórag could see something else: a single streak of hair that was naturally snow white, or it would be if it weren’t for the blood.

“I’m not touching you. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.” Mórag kept her voice light and soft and that seemed to get this woman -- no, girl, now that she’s taken a better look, to relax a little. The girl -- now that Mórag was really looking at her she couldn’t be more than about fifteen, slowly uncurled and stumbled onto her feet, swaying dangerously.

“Careful. They may have hit your head.”

“Ow...they definitely did.” She saw the flash of the Gormotti fangs in the older girl’s grimace. But there was something still distinctly familiar and rather Ardainian about this girl. She lacked a lot of the fur that the Gormotti bared, her arms and hands bare. But her fingers had the claws, and her eyes definitely bore the cat like pupils. “I’m fine.” Her gaze was out of focus. “This happens.”

“Well it shouldn’t.” Mórag protested.  
“But it does.” The older girl grit out. “It’s fine.” She began limping off, and Mórag followed her.  
“Well my father will have a talk with them about your treatment. It’ll get better.”  
The soldier’s teal blue eyes widened. “Please no. Don’t bother. You’ll piss them off.”  
“You’re a soldier, like them!” Mórag insisted, “They’re the ones doing something wrong here!”

“I will have to go on a battlefield full of people who look like me. Pissing them off seems like signing up for a death sentence.” She scoffed, “no thanks.”

“My father will see to it that you have nothing to worry about.”  
“What happens when your father’s busy?” The girl growled. Mórag’s brow furrowed.  
“Well, when they realize what they did was wrong, and how it goes against everythi~”

“Don’t make me laugh, kid.” The older girl grumbled. “Your Pa’s gonna leave loose ends, and I’ll ‘ave to deal with ‘em.” She wrinkled her nose. “Loose ends are just a noose waitin’ for a neck.” Mórag’s worry grew as she got a better look at the older girl’s skin. She was badly scarred. More than a little. More than a soldier her age, a new recruit barely of enlistment age, had any right to be. She wasn’t old enough to be on an active tour of duty by the Empire’s Law. She hadn’t even seen battle yet.

“How long have they been hurting you like this?”

“You really don’t take a hint, do you, pipsqueak?” Against better judgement, Mórag grabbed her arm and the girl snarled, trying to jerk away, but almost falling. Mórag caught and steadied her.

“I said not to touch me!” she roared.  
“I just want to help you!”  
“Father tried to help me, then I ended up on this damn dying Titan with a bunch of~” she cut herself off, looking away quickly. “If this is the majesty of Mor Ardain, I’ve ‘ad quite a bit enough!”

“That’s why I want to help. You belong here.”  
“Try ‘n convince them of that.”

“Your family ties you to Mor Ardain.” Mórag knew, she had heard about this girl before. The daughter of a future Lord of the Ardainian Court and a Lady of Gormott. She had seen her a few times too when she thought of it, always in dresses wearing a hat. Now she knew why. “In fact it’s one of the oldest families in the history of the Empire.” The girl froze. “You’re Caille Beira, yes?” Caille’s eyes widened before narrowing viciously.

“And the ‘ell does that matter to you, ‘uh?” The full blown Gormotti accent. That cemented it, though she hid it well for the most part. It seemed indignation was the trigger.

“I’m Mórag Ladair.”

Caille whipped her hand away, bowing low, almost falling to the ground. “Forgive me, Princess! I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I was so upset about the other soldiers~”

“No need to be bowing, Lady Caille.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude.” Caille said in a rush of air, “Please don’t tell father! ‘e really wants me to ge-get along around ‘ere,” she stuttered, “and I can’t even do that! ‘e’ll be so disappointed!”

“Hey, hey,” Mórag crouched down low, propping her head up with two fingers, and stared at her worryingly when her eyes struggled to focus on Mórag. “My father taught me that to be part of the nobility of the Empire of Mor Ardain means we need to be strong to help our people.”

“Please! Don’t let them kick me out! Don’t let them say it’s for my safety or it’s for the best!” 

“Caille,” Mórag breathed the name halting the anxious spill of words from the older girl, “it’s okay.” Mórag admitted seeing the older girl’s nervous look, “it’s okay. They are the only ones in the wrong here. Not you.” Mórag offered as condolence, though she made a mental note of asking her father how those men would be dealt with. Later. She offered her hand and helped Caille to her feet giving her a small smile. One that left when she saw Caille wobble, her feet give way and the older girl crash to the ground almost lifelessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can reach me on discord. Corvidae #2875 :)
> 
> Please R and R :)


	9. Training Grounds pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearing about who Lady Morag is certainly isn't the same as witnessing. The link and flow of Ether between us has slowly been strengthening. I have hope that this means her wakening is soon, but for now, I have these stories. I'm thankful for Lady Ladair indulging me like this.
> 
> It seems his Majesty is going through a bout of what Lady Ladair calls his odd "fixations". I think it's because his child's birth looms but the Lady claims His Majesty has grown jealous again. It's been five weeks now since Lady Morag fell into slumber. Many think she will see her death in that bed. The Emperor wonders how long it will take for my core crystal to glow again once she passes. It is to my understanding that the Emperor had desired for me to be his blade, but I think that wouldn't have worked out.
> 
> If Lady Morag has every bit the spirit that her mother and her friend speaks of, then the reason why I would never bond with the Emperor is apparent. He lacks her tenacity, her bravery, her selflessness. I clearly saw something in her that resonated that he feared I would never see in him. Something it seems even the Praetor Amalthus saw and put his bets on, according to Lord Beira.
> 
> I hope she wakes soon.

If you told Morag Ladair that today, at a mere twelve years old she would break up a terrible scene like seeing six soldiers beat up on one of their brothers-in-arms, she’d laugh at you. She could hardly see herself getting a solid hit on her father on a regular basis, never mind beating up five grown men. 

Perhaps that was misleading. They were young men. Early twenties. Not yet filled into their shoulders never mind their armour. Comparing their prowess, or lack there of really, to the abilities of the Special Inquisitor of the Empire of Ardain would be seen as either incredibly insulting to her father, the Lord Special Inquisitor, or incredibly unfair to the soldiers, their youth and their lack of experience. The fact is, she trained with one of the Jewels of Mor Ardain and the Special Inquisitor everyday. She was no ordinary high born twelve year old. Of course she could roughen up newly minted soldiers in some basic hand to hand combat.

Plus she had help. In the form of the young woman she was practically holding up.

“Are you awake?” A rather feverish young woman now that Morag had her this close. “Lady Caille?” She was heavy. Morag wasn’t the smallest for her age. In fact she was always told she was tall and lean. She was taller than Lady Caille Beira by a good bit to be honest, despite being younger. However, though Caille possessed a bit of a smaller build, the scion of the Beira house seemed to outweigh Morag easily. For someone so small, she was compact, her body dense, like the large orb of stone Morag pushed around her yard for her warm up exercises every morning. Holding and keeping them both upright was turning into an exercise in futility.

It was only natural to call for her father as loudly as possible at that point. To have him scoop up Caille (with some difficulty, making Morag’s pride feel better. Wow. She really was heavy) as they rushed to Hardhaigh Palace. It was a whirl of activity. The Palace doctors had shooed her away. Her father had left her there when she insisted on sticking around for when Caille woke up citing that Lord Beira needed to know what happened to his daughter.

She was surprised by who had joined her, easing onto the nearby bench so gently she hardly heard the creak of wood. A flutter of shock hit her when she spotted familiar Titan coloured hair. Especially considering it had been over a year since they saw each other, an encounter spent mostly in silence. Those ombre eyes, the ones she shared, looked at her lovingly.

“Your father told me you rushed in to save that girl?” She knew the lit of that voice so well, dreamt of it often when she was lonely, but it was odd seeing her mother here, dressed in the armour of a guard. “Took on what, ten of them?”

“It was only five.” Morag wrinkled her nose. “I think.” She thought back to the circle. Okay. She handled five. There was a sixth one. “Lady Caille took one down with quite the powerful kick.”

“And so modest!” A musical laugh. “Just like a real hero!” She was heavier set then Mórag remembered her being last, the weight heavy on her cheeks, but there was a firm strength to her body as well. “Five of them in armour and weapons and you in,” she gestured to Morag’s cloth shift to make her point and Morag turned to see the woman better. “This?” Her hair cut shorter than Mórag remembered, and Macha’s Scytheblade rested at her hip.

“Mother.”

“The nurse I just saw told me she’ll recover. The hits to the head might give her trouble for a while, so she’ll have to come in for check ups.” Deidra hummed, putting her arms above her head to stretch, “she fainted from blood loss. The doctors got that to stop, so she’s recovering.”

“Thank the Architect.” Mórag whispered. “Will they let me see her?”  
“Mmm, probably, if you promise the doctors not to wake her up. She’ll need the rest.” Deidra answered, voice lofty, “but perhaps Cian should do so first?”  
“Lord Beira?” Deidra nodded at Mórag. “Of course.” The silence between them grew awkward.

“Your Uncle and his sons are visiting.” Deidra tried. “Lord Titania with Sean and Brian, I mean.”  
“Are you actually going to see them, or are they going to continue to pretend you don’t exist?”

Deidra actually laughed, and loudly. “We’ll see. Tuireann never approved of Nollaig marrying our sister. So he’s attempting, with His Majesty’s latest machinations, to throw the horse off course. But Tuireann is not as clever as Nollaig. I warned him about getting too big for his britches. He didn’t listen and given how thoroughly rebuffed he’s been by Queen Raquera at last, and how unpopular his decision to make the marriage proposal was -- peaceful times be damned -- he’s likely coming here to lick his wounds and complain to His Majesty about his plans falling apart.”

“Do you really think the Emperor will listen to him whine about it?”

“Him and Tuireann are the same age. I think they were even milk brothers. They had the same maid attending them, I remember. Granted, Tuireann was a very young father, but anyone who grew up in the Ardainian courts can tell you it’s very common for those born close to stick together and remain close, if the political environment allows.” There was an airiness between them now, and the awkwardness had seemed to dissipate somewhat.

“So they’re kind of like best friends?”  
“Who like to one up each other.” Deidra hummed. “Friendly competition they call it. Yes.”

“That…” she laughed at that image. Most of the time Nollaig just seemed lonely, isolated from the more simple life he once knew, “seems fun.”

“Fun, huh?” Deidra sighed, and Morag let a silence lull between her and her mother.

“You’re growing to be as handsome as your father.” Deidra leaned close to delicately brush some errand black strands out of Mórag’s face. “Please try not to be as short sighted, will you? I would hate so much for something to happen to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did I ever tell you how we met?” Mórag shook her head and Deidra smiled fondly. “We were both children of the court, but that was when his father lived. During the Third Urayan war, so much changed so quickly that it seemed like lifetimes ago. So we didn’t remember each other.” 

“That seems kind of sad.”

“It was.” Deidra agreed solemnly. “But one does not earn the title ‘Titania the Reaper’ and not know the Special Inquisitor would have an eye on you for a mission or two. It was during the middling years of the Third Urayan war. He was barely a man. Just twenty. I was a rambunctious seventeen trying to prove something.”

“That’s...really young.”

“Such was the way back then.” Deidra continued. “One day, things went wrong. The Urayan army launched an Ether Cannon volley at me.”

Mórag gasped. “At you?”

“They’re soldiers Mórag. They kill others.” Deidra spoke with such deft plainness as she lifted her hand to look at her wedding band, “Macha couldn’t get a barrier up. So like the fool he was, Niall came up with the brilliant idea to tackle me to the ground and have Aegeon put a barrier up for us, fully knowing if it was too strong a blow we’d lose one of the most important Blades of the Empire in the middle of the battle. Damn fool.” She smiled.

“You’re calling him a fool, but....” Mórag didn’t want to dissuade her. “Well, what happened?”

“We fell into the Eight Rock Skip.” She chuckled. “He didn’t notice how close to the edge of the Cobalt Cliffs we were when he tackled me. Got himself properly banged up. Me as well.” Deidra chuckled. “I was smitten afterwards. We had to spend the next two days finding a way back up and to our next camp to join the rest of our team by the old dam.”

Mórag nodded, humming at the pleased look on Deidra’s face. “And just like that?”

“Ah. It took a little more but,” Deidra waved off, “boy did he try to be smooth. Didn’t work. Told me he couldn’t let someone so young, beautiful and talented die so early as it’d be tragedy.”

There was a pause and Mórag laughed. “That does sound like Father.”

“Oh trust. I gave him hell for taking us out of the battle without thinking like that and making us do all that walking and monster slaying.” Deidra winked. “Apparently Niall likes feisty.”

Mórag playfully scoffed at her mother, but soon the tone turned sombre. “So then, why?”

“For reasons,” Deidra looked off into the distance, “I pray you’ll never have to know personally.”  
“Well, even so,” Mórag pursed her lips, “Could you try again? For him and me?”

“No, my sweet Mor, I won’t.” Mórag deflated at that. “These things are hollow if your heart is not there. I’ll do it for my own sake.” Deidra noted. “As Niall’s wife and your mother.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Mórag smiled softly and Deidra chuckled, leaning in to kiss her forehead.  
“You are your father’s daughter, truly.” She hummed. “Thanking me for something like that.”

“WHERE IS SHE?”

There was running down the hall. She saw her mother flinch at the sounds of commotions and the palace guard yelling. Deidra was on her feet and she snapped her fingers. Macha appeared from around the corner, freaking out Mórag for a moment, but not like the fear and fury that filled her mother, the golden link between her and Macha.

“Deidra, calm down, no one is attacking!” It was Niall’s voice. Once it hit Deidra’s ears, she visibly relaxed, but still remained taut and ready. The tension only dissipated when the heavy steps turned out to be Cian Beira rushing down the hall with Niall rubbing the back of his neck with a heavy sigh as he approached the still standing Deidra. Not sure what to do, he placed both hands over her left that rested on the handle of her blade. “Deidra. Please. We are safe.”

“The last time I heard such commotion in the Palace of all places…”

“I know, Deidra, I know, but this is not then. We are safe now.” Niall reassured. Mórag turned just as she saw her father kiss her mother on the cheek and for Deidra to not pull away, like Niall had sometimes told her she did, but to return the gesture. Mórag smiled, but it dropped when she looked at the mournful worry on Cian Beira’s face.

“She’s strong, Lord Beira.” Cian turned to face Mórag before crossing his arms behind his back, but he was certainly perturbed. “It was a group of infantrymen.”

“She never said anything about --” he cut himself off then sighed, “I did notice the scars on her ears, but I had hoped it would dissuade her from insisting on being in the military. Our House has always proudly served, but her condition makes her too...” Cian murmured, trailing off.

“Her condition?” Morag echoed.

“Neverthemind, Princess. Trouble yourself not.” Cian pivoted to turned to Niall. “Andraste has been livid about Caille’s scars but she hasn’t exactly been helpful when it comes to talking Caille out of being in the military. My only defence to Andraste now is that I believe that service will give Caille the discipline she needs, but what am I to say of this?” 

Niall raised a dark eyebrow. “Would you have us hide that this happened to Lady Saetes?”

“Architect, no!” Cian shook his head. “She would skin us. We’re supposed to be building relations into something positive with Gormott, not adding fuel to Andraste’s bitterness.”

Niall sighed. “I’ll make sure the men are properly discipline, Cian. I’ll leave the Political and personal maneuvering to you. Just try not to make more tongues wag as you do?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Cian forced a smile, but he sighed, the smile faltering as he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

“You could trust her?” Morag cut into the conversation. Cian almost jumped, flushing to realize he practically cut her out of the conversation. “She said something to me before she passed out, Lord Beira,” Mórag began seeing Cian’s face darken and she backed up, “that she was worried you wouldn’t see that she was trying to get along here and be happy in Mor Ardain.”

“She isolates herself a lot.” Cian admitted. “She’s resented everything since I brought her here.”  
“Maybe it’s not resentment?” Mórag proposed. “Maybe she was just scared?”  
“Of what?” Cian bit back. “She has me, and Cusith and her mother. She has nothing to fear!”

Mórag was silent for a long time, thinking back to the screams of the soldiers who were attacking the older girl just hours ago. She looked to the quiet father as he grumbled.

“If she never insisted on joining the military....” Cian ran a hand through his snow white hair, frowning. “There’s literally no point in doing this, why she insists otherwise I don’t know.”

“Maybe.” Mórag agreed, “Or maybe what she feared were people who thought like those soldiers, and disappointing you when they provoked her.” Cian fell silent for a long time.

“What are you saying?” He asked at last and even Mórag had to question what her point was. 

“Father always told me discipline is a virtue you have to grow into, and respect was something you earned.” Though she had to wonder too, out of curiosity, what would bring someone like Caille to join the military and be so persistent in remaining there despite all the abuse she faced.

“Maybe you’re right.” Cian sighed, armour clinking. “I’m a fool. It was clear by her scarred ears that someone was hurting her maliciously.” Mórag certainly couldn’t argue that. “Princess, thank you. May I ask you all to give me time with my daughter alone?”

The three of them obliged, and Mórag watched the white haired man go in. What seemed to be ages later, a large lupine like creature followed with a glowing blue crystal on its chest. It scratched on the door and was let in, and that was when Niall directed her and Deidra elsewhere to give the Beira family a bit more space.

“Despite the awful aspect of the day, I do have good news.” Niall suddenly spoke up.  
“Is it about Lady Brighid?” Deidra inquired.  
“Yes.” Niall confirmed. He pouted. “What gave it away?”  
“A little redheaded birdy told me when she yelled in my face again.” Deidra admitted loftily.  
“So you and Siobhan are still on terrible terms I take it?”  
“Won’t be changing soon.”

“So…” Mórag let the question hang on the air, interrupting her parents’ moment.

“Her Core Crystal glows brightly now.” Niall looked to his wife. “Nollaig wants us to take it to Indol to purify it so that it is ready to be bonded with.”

“You mean so it can be bonded with him?” Morag caught on. Niall coughed conspicuously.

“Who is the Us?” Deidra echoed, making Niall almost skittish.  
“Well, uh,” he sighed, “Myself, Mórag, some guards~”  
“I’m going with you.” Deidra said quickly.

“Maybe it’s best if you stay.” Niall tried to dissuade. Mórag knew better and remained silent.  
“Why, do you think I can’t handle a few monsters on the way?” Deidra sounded insulted.  
“No, that’s not it.” Niall insisted. “Things have been rather strained between us, Deidra.”  
“Then fighting monsters together will certainly help us bond.” Deidra placed a hand on her hip.  
“If our disagreements don’t kill us first.” Niall grumbled. “Figures that’s your logic.”  
“Then it’s decided!” Deidra proclaimed loudly, earning a suffering sigh from Niall.

“So father,” Mórag knew now was the time her voice would be heard between the playfully quarreling duo, “what happens after we purify the Core Crystal of Lady Brighid?”

She knew he was about to say something he was not going to like. “We wait.”

“Why?” Mórag already knew the answer deep down but needed it vocalized. Niall seemed adamant not to. “Why, does Emperor Nollaig really think I haven’t begun to put it together?”

“Lady Brighid is the Emperor’s blade.” Deidra murmured softly. 

“So I’m not even a consideration anymore? Why, because I won’t ever be Emperor?”  
“We don’t know that for sure.” Niall tried to placate. “You are the issue of the Emperor.”  
“Why doesn’t anyone just come out and say it plainly?” Morag grumbled.

“Well,” Deidra closed her eyes, almost in pain. “Siobhan is pregnant.”  
“It could be a girl.” Morag protested. “Or am I not good enough now because I won’t be the Emperor’s daughter?”

“Look, I’m trying not be angry too, Mórag. There is no certainty this child will even grow up. What if they are ill or their mother is? My brother’s intentions are there and he means the best for all of the Empire, but nothing is in stone yet. Nothing has been written that can’t be changed. Not yet.” Niall insisted.

“So really, taking the Core Crystal to Indol is a consolation prize.” Mórag murmured bitterly.  
“We don’t know where the chips will ultimately be,” Niall pressed, “Be patient a little longer and your place in all this will become apparent.”

“For how long?” Mórag asked coldly. Deidra sighed, her eyes closing as she folded her hands.  
“For as long as it takes, Mór.” Deidra reassured. “You’ll find your greatness. I believe in you.”

Mórag looked at her mother a long time before Deidra unfolded her hands and beckoned her daughter to her. Mórag did so and she hugged her. The first time in two years.

“All things in time, Mór, all things in time.” Deidra whispered. “Trust your mother. She knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do the thiiing :)
> 
> Ps. Having Brighid as more than just a journal writer will be a thing. Soon. SOON. :D


	10. Blood and Flame Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hindsight is cruel, but foresight is not without it's problems.
> 
> Lady Ladair is upset. Her Blade, Macha claims she's furious, but I'm not at all certain I believe it. The night is very late. I make mention of this only because of what keeps us up at this hour. Lady Morag has finally awakened. I sensed it was about to happen. I tried to tell Lady Ladair weeks ago but she grew cross when it didn't happen within a time she would consider appropriate. 
> 
> Then I sensed something odd in the ether flow and tried to inform Lady Ladair again.
> 
> She didn't listen to me, too angry with my words not bringing her what she wanted sooner: her only child, living and not wasting away in a sleep. Now here we are. I have another story to write about. Lady Caille convinced me that if Lady Morag's mind could not do it for her, we should keep memories on her behalf. Lady Caille's intention to have Lady Morag read this and her own recollections is a generous offer. One with intent that might stem deeper than friendship.
> 
> I do not believe this will end well for them both. Especially given the current state of the noble houses and royal bloodline.  
> Foresight is not without it's problems, it would seem.

“You’re still a little bit annoying, you know that?”

At first, those words were irritating to Mórag, but now when she spotted that fanged little quirk of lips, she knew it was a sign of the speaker finally warming up to her. 

“I know.” Mórag laughed despite it. “By the Architect is it good to see you.”  
“Your cousins are that bad, huh?” Caille chuckled. “The Titania brothers, right?”

“Those are them.” Mórag confirmed. “Take my mother’s stubbornness and double it. Add a healthy dose of: “why is a girl in line for the crown?” and you essentially have my cousin Sean.”

“Here I thought they both seemed charming.” Caille teased.   
“Outwardly.” Mórag scoffed loudly. 

“Maybe it’s cause you’re cousins twice over?” Callie purposed. “It leaves you out of the running for marriage.” She placed a hand over her chest, mockingly. “However, I’m sure House Titania would love to say they’re related to both House Beira and Ladair though their careful marriages!”

“Maybe that’s it.” Morag agreed. “Inside they’re rotten social climbers. Just like their father.”  
“Apples rarely fall far.” Callie appeased.  
“They don’t have to blindly follow their father. Lord Titania’s ways only burn bridges.”

“Well, I hear being thought out isn’t considered a House Titania trait.” Caille admitted flippantly.

“Just because my uncle doesn’t believe in acting as though thoughtless decisions leave little impact doesn’t mean it isn’t on the minds of my mother, my aunt and myself.” Morag gritted. 

“And that is why you are very much a Ladair, Morag.” Caille shrugged her shoulders almost haplessly. “when you look at the history of it,” Caille looked into the air, “House Titania would have been in House Ladair’s position, had your great-great grandfather not been born before Caoimhe Titania could take the throne. Caoimhe Titania was Empress Caoimhe’s eldest daughter, which would mean nothing if she didn’t have all girls.”

Morag sighed. “No one was going to be stupid enough to claim the Empress’ womb was cursed, unless they wanted to hang.” Morag sighed. “I guess that’s one advantage of being Empress?”

“Exactly.” Caille sighed. “Family bloodlines tend to trump an individual. How’s your mother?”

“As well as can be expected.” Morag tried not to wince at how defensive she sounded. “Your father’s still not brought Lady Andraste to live in Mor Ardain.” She didn’t mean it as a barb.

“She doesn’t like the heat.” Caille dismissed, though she was tensing up.  
“People are wondering if she even exists.” Morag sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.  
“Ah, good old Royal Court Rumours.” Came the hiss.

“That might throw your legitimacy in question.” Morag pointed out. “Which could end dangerously. You know how much bastards are loved here.”

“My father just doesn’t care, and I don’t see why I should.” Caille’s tone was betrayed by how tense she looked. “My great-great grandfather was younger than yours, but he was crown prince. His daughter married his brother’s child, and my grandfather was Emperor Ruari’s brother. That kept us closer to the throne than House Titania, but still behind House Ladair.”

“You’re...dodging?” Morag questioned.  
“Just getting us back on topic. We were talking about your cousins, right?”

“You were born out of marriage, but were legitimized by the Emperor. Whether you want to believe it or not, you’re part of this now.” Morag protested. “Even after my Cousin is born, you’re still what, after my cousin is, well, technically, my father, though he’d abicate, then me, then…”

“Lord Titania, Sean, Brian, and then myself. I know.” Caille shrugged it off. “I’ll be murdered before they let a half-Gormotti take it, so I don’t concern myself with something I will never get. Best no one gets the idea that I could even be interested. Seems like a way to have a long life.”

“There’s five people between you and the throne,” Morag noted, then sighed at Caille’s exasperated roll of her eyes. She wanted to change topics. “most of them men.” 

“Seems like that’s how your cousins prefer it.” Caille snorted with amusement.   
“You know they’ve been giving me trouble?”

“They aren’t subtle. Ironic given their foremother.” Caille smiled with a fanged tooth. “Though really, it’s Sean who seems obnoxious. He bullies Brian into being a yes man, right?”

“They spoke with you?”

“I’m of House Beira. Despite being a mutt, talking to me isn’t completely beneath them.”  
Mórag winced at the wording, choosing to edge around the topic. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Like crap.” Caille giggled despite herself and she sighed when her laughter quelled and she was left wincing. “Thanks for talking to your Uncle -- His Majesty -- about letting me stay in the Palace though while I heal.” Her vivid teal blue eyes drifted to the window, searching through the clouds and Mórag noticed that the single streak of white hair had grown, taking over half of her bangs now, making her eyes stand out even more. As if sensing the younger girl’s gaze, Caille caught Mórag’s eyes in the reflection of the window.

“Your hair…”

“Father says that’s how he knew I was his.” She chuckled. “Some say it’s stress, but who knows? Every person of House Beira is born with a patch of white hair that grows and grows until our entire head is as white as the snow you hear about in storybooks.”

Mórag had heard that the most natural hair colour for anyone in that family was white. Like the clouds. Like the snow that no longer graced the ground of Mor Ardain. There were a lot of superstitions around it with the House of Beira. It was everything you’d expect: that they were talented Drivers who excelled in ether use, that they were the spirit of the long lost winters and this was why the family, like the Ardainian Titan, was dying out quickly. Such strange and frankly childish rumours seemed only boosted by the fact that almost any Driver who bore the name Beira only bonded to the family Heirlooms, such as Cusith or some sort of ice blade, but it was hard to give any of them any credence. Even the less outlandish stories seemed rife with mysticism. It seemed Caille was thinking similarly about her hair, but for different reasons.

“I’m not sure how I feel about losing one of the few things that make me look like my Mother.”

It was true. Save the claws, and her fanged teeth when she smiled, most would think Caille was just another Ardainian, though perhaps a little darker skinned than most. The only other thing that gave it away was her eyes at times, under certain types of light, but the bright, eerily and almost unnatural colour -- that took heavily after her father’s brilliant eyes, often distracted people from noticing the shape of Caille’s pupils. 

“I only have my mother’s eyes.” Mórag admitted softly, “Other than that, I look like father.”  
“Your eyes are gorgeous.” Caille sighed, “fiery. It suits you. Maybe even more than her.”  
“I don’t know about that.” That seemed to earn silence from Caille.

Caille made a face, then went back to peering at the clouds. “So, you set off today.”  
“I do.”  
“For a little longer than a week, yes?”

Mórag nodded and looked out at the clouds with her. After a few minutes, Caille reached to move a small canister she had by her legs and patted the bed beside her, beckoning Mórag. Curiously, Mórag had noted, in the past when she got very close, Caille moved over more, always making sure there was a small bit of space between them. It was for that reason and that alone that she hesitated.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Oh this thing?” Caille set it by her side table. “Lubricating oil for machines. I was working on a project from one of father’s labs. Him and I sometimes sit together working on these stupid little things for hours!” She reached over to the table to show a pile of gears. “Drives mother mad.”

“Interesting.” Mórag had no clue what those pieces would even assemble to make.  
“Oh come on Mórag, sit beside me.” Caille sighed.  
“I thought you hated being touched?”

“I do, but there’s enough room on this bed for both of us, so sit.” Morag hesitated, but complied, careful not to touch Caille, leaving just a thin bit of space between like the older girl always did.

“It’s going to be lonely.” Caille breathed, longingly.  
“I thought you liked being alone?” Mórag teased. Caille wasn’t exactly social.

“No.” She made a face. “I just got use to it.” She admitted softly. She reached out for Mórag, but her hand stopped, resting in between them. “So after this, is the Jewel of the Empire yours?”

“That’s a,” she scowled, “controversial note of contention right now.” Mórag’s eyes fell to her lap.  
“Right.” Caille rolled her eyes. “Sucks being a girl in Mor Ardain, huh?”  
“It is what it is.”

“It’s antiquated.” Caille dismissed. “Gormott isn’t -- wasn’t -- like that at all. We -- they are a trade country first. Competence trumps what parts you got. My mother would be head of her Noble house right this second if she didn’t marry an Ardainian, and she has two younger brothers.”

A beat of silence grew, and Mórag looked to the cloud see, the air of annoyance growing around her. “I guess if my cousin is a girl, that might mean I could still remain the heir.”

“Well, it could be better,” Caille’s toothy grin told Mórag this was going to be a self deprecating comment, “I am not Gormotti enough for the Gormotti nobles and not Ardainian enough for the Ardainians. However I am enough of the other to make me a fun little tryst with no strings attached. You know, foreign in a ‘good’ way?” Mórag frowned at that. She hadn’t considered what Caille’s state of being mixed blood really meant, or what ramifications it had on her life. She had seen only the most obvious: the prejudice, the soldiers that beat her almost to death.

“I’m sorry.” Mórag told her softly. “It must be hard.”

“In a way. I mean, none of the noble houses will let me marry one of their sons given the current political climate. In Mor Ardain that doesn’t leave me with many options.”

“And in Gormott?”

“Mother says it wouldn’t be much better.” Caille noted softly. “I’m gonna have to fight tooth and nail for everything. Well, in that way, both Gormott and Mor Ardain are incredibly lacking, all thanks to the war, really.” 

“Again, I’m sorry.”  
“You’ll have your choice though of being with any man you want between the two.”  
“I’m not really interested in all that.” Mórag protested lowly.  
“Yeah, well, as the Empress or the Emperor’s cousin, you might not get a choice.”  
“I kind of envy you then.”

“Do you?” Caille questioned. “Envy the fact that I’m pretty much doomed to be alone?” Mórag was quick to steer this in a different direction before this went south.

“What does that mean for the Beira House then?”

“It’ll probably end with me, unless father knocks up an Ardainian.” Caille shrugged her shoulders, unperturbed. “It’s okay if I die alone. If I make some changes around here, that’s good enough for me.” Her eyes lit up and she turned to grab Mórag’s hangs, beaming.

“Hey, hey, let’s make a promise!”  
“I...uh...okay…” Mórag blinked, startled by the mood whiplash.

“My father and mother are not going to be the only Gormotti and Ardainian couple, and those couple’s kids need to feel that whether it’s here they stay, or Gormott, that it is their home. So promise me -- whether you’re going to be Empress or not, that we are going to improve things between Gormott and Mor Ardain together!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we'll see a glimpse of Amalthus next time. Two chapters out before Brighid rejoins us as more than just a lovely voice in a journal :)


	11. Blood and Flame Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe it if I told you my core crystal had almost been cleansed?
> 
> It was His Majesty's idea. Emperor Nollaig claimed that it was becoming far too difficult to awaken me. That as an ailing royal line on an ailing titan, continuing as they were grew increasingly risky. The thing is, Praetor Amalthus refused. I'm not certain why he did. Perhaps he felt it was overstepping his bounds as Indol and the powers around it. What I do know was that His Majesty's decision was met with a lot of contention towards him. I'm certain it would have been towards Indol as well if they agreed.
> 
> I've met the Praetor again since my awakening. He told me he was pleased. When I asked why, he merely said that every Blade deserved to reach their potential. There was something though in his smile that seemed strange. Maybe I'm imagining it, but whatever his intentions it seems the Praetor imagines a future for Mor Ardain that no one else sees. One that doesn't seem to have Emperor Nollaig at it's helm.
> 
> I'm not quite sure what to think of it, or of the Praetor. I hope when Lady Morag wakes up, I might be able to gain a bit of insight as to why he was so adamant in his belief that she would awaken me again.

Arms crossed against her chest. Head lolled to one side. It wasn’t the most dignified look and when she awoke she vaguely wondered why neither her father or her mother did something to set her straight, but she guessed this was her father allowing her the, as he would put it, privileges of a child. Such as sleeping so oddly in public or near public. 

Mórag tried to find the source of her disturbance, and found nothing. Lord Cian Beira was sitting across from her, his eyes fixed on a book. Her parents were speaking quietly, her mother in particular held a small fond smile on her lips. She felt a vibration from under her seat and it dawned on her what it was. The ship was docking.

“Is something the matter, Princess Mórag?” Cian Beira looked up from his book and she shook her head at him. He smiled and went back to reading.

“May I ask something?” Mórag proposed just as they were given the go ahead to depart onto the docks. The man stood to stretch and nodded. Just as he did, the giant form that had folded itself under the bench like seat by Cian’s feet scuttled out from under it and stood at it’s full height. From paw to shoulder, Cusith was large enough to catch Mórag by the forehead. It was startling to see something that big decide to fit itself in a space so considerably tiny.

“Cusith likes small spaces.” Cian answered her shocked awe, “Or was there something else?”  
“Why did you come with us? His Majesty never said anything about why you came.”

“I asked him to at my daughter’s behest.” Cian hummed happily, petting Cusith on the head, brushing shaggy fur from his face. “She simply insisted I be there for you since she couldn’t.”

“Caille did?”

“Yes. I noticed you visit her every day since the incident almost three months ago. She speaks of you often, and fondly at that.” Cian sighed. “May I ask why you visit her?”

“Well,” Mórag flushed under the gaze of his incredibly vivid eyes, “at first it was because I wanted to make sure she was okay. Now it’s because I enjoy her company.”

“So you became friends?” Cian let the thought hang. “Thank you Princess Mórag. I did not know I had her until she was nearly three.” Cian admitted, “Then like a fool, I believed I knew better for her when I took her away from her mother. My Caille hasn’t smiled since. Until now.”

That thought lingered on her mind as they left the ship. Their activities seemed boring, but Indol was a beautiful place. Seemingly carved out of marble at every inch, there were staircases almost tall enough to reach the heavens, a sanctuary, and bright sunlight everywhere, but a coolness that one would never find in Mor Ardain and a sense of forboding.

The stairs dragged on for as long as they were tall. The soldiers behind her kept almost stepping on her boots, tripping her up. Her parents and Lord Beira kept out pacing her. It took everything in Morag not to give into her frustration when they started yet another staircase to not petulantly ask for a piggyback ride up the stairs. She was still young, granted. Nearly thirteen. Not yet an adult and definitely not yet old to drink, but she didn’t want to appear to be nothing more than child. So like the proud woman of House Ladair of the Empire of Mor Ardain, she ignored her screaming muscles and kept walking.

They finally reached the very top, to take a break and admire the Square and the architecture before they headed for the Sanctuary. They were told their appointment with Praetor Amalthus was in the evening, so thankfully, Mórag was only all too content when they were given a room to rest after their travels. Her parents seemed content to give her a little space for the time being, though Deidra did poke her head in.

“How’s your little friend doing now, Mór?”  
“Friend?” Mórag echoed, confused.  
“Cian’s mixed child, love.” Mórag wasn’t sure how she felt about Deidra calling Caille that.  
“Oh. Caille still has headaches.” Mórag reported. “She seemed a little sad when I was leaving.”  
“Huh. To be that age again.” Deidra left before Mórag could ask her what that was all about.

Mórag shook the thought away, and allowed herself some rest. When she woke to her father shaking her shoulder a few hours later, the sun was low in the sky, painting the white marble of Indol a beautiful, fiery orange. She looked up to her father’s bright blue eyes, so similar and yet different from Cian Beira’s that she dimly wondered if they both inherited them from their shared ancestor, Empress Caoimhe. Paintings always in the Palace always showed her with blue eyes.

“Time to go Mór.”  
“Already?”

He nodded, and then pointed to the formal clothes that they had brought. “Go and change. Your mother is nearby if you need help.” With him out of the room, she slowly rolled off the bed and began to change. The clothes weren’t much different from what she already wore when she left the Ladair Residence or when she was training with the soldiers. In fact, it was a lot like her father’s uniform. Black and high collared. High boots, a heavy black coat over a starched white shirt, and gold decorations on her shoulders and hips -- nothing like the heavy belts and armour that the Special Inquisitor bore, but it was clear this uniform was heavily influenced by it.

The appointment with the Praetor only lasted a half hour. She wondered what all the pomp and ceremony was when she looked at this man clothed in white. Why this man held so much sway in Alrest and even over her uncle who seemed to think this would move the Empire forward.

“I haven’t seen someone this young being prepped as the next ruler since Empress Caoimhe.” Paetor Amalthus smiled, but something was unsettling about the gaze in his golden eyes. Mórag just couldn’t place what it was. “Is Mor Ardain suffering another crisis of ascension?” He asked as several core crystals floated around his body. “Like when Emperor Hugo tragically passed?”

“No sir. Mórag here is next. Either she or her cousin if it’s a boy.” Niall reassured softly.

“From an outsider’s view, Special Inquisitor,” Praetor Amalthus’s blue skin glowed faintly with energy, his golden eyes reflecting it, “I am sad to say, but it seems the dynasty that started with Emperor Hugo’s brother and his daughter, wavers.” He seemed solemn as he reached for the core crystal they brought in a box lined with silk. Lady Brighid’s core crystal. It began floating in front of them. “Some might say it appropriate, for even now, generations later he is just known as an Emperor’s brother. Not an Emperor in his own right. I think it is rather telling what your people thought of him. Perhaps this change of the Empire’s direction is Emperor Nollaig’s way of countering that?” The Praetor hummed. “The years certainly have not been kind to the Royal Family, have they?”

“No sir.” Niall agreed, equally as soft.

“How unfortunate.” Praetor Amalthus didn’t question any further, taking the core crystal in hand and peering at it as if looking into the very soul of the Blade inside. It didn’t glow like the other crystals floating around him did. “I respect Emperor Nollaig’s forward thinking, but I do question his timing. Lady Brighid’s core crystal does not currently need my assistance.”

Niall looked taken aback. “Praetor? But the Emperor said~”

“And I am saying Mor Ardain subsists on its traditions.” Amalthus countered. “I feel he eschews many of them too quickly for your people to adapt.”

Niall looked hesitant. “With all do respect, sir, what would you, an Indolese know about the importance of Mor Ardain’s traditions?”

If Amaltus was insulted, he didn’t show it. Instead he folded his hands and turned to Morag. She blinked as his golden eyes fell on her, studying. “I have lived many centuries, Special Inquisitor. Long enough to know what an insecure Emperor of the Ardainian throne looks like and the damage he is easily capable of.” He blinked, long and slow, and when his eyes opened, they met Morag’s again. “And I have lived long enough to know the extent of the ruin an insecure Monarch leaves in their wake. Look no further than your constant rival Uraya. Their years of decline was because of an insecure man on the throne.”

“We know.” Niall cleared his throat. “My older brother -- the previous Emperor and I took advantage of that weakness your grace. That is how Raquera sits the throne now.”

“I knew she didn’t get there without support.” Amalthus stroked his chin. “Morag, was it?”  
Morag nearly jumped when she was addressed directly. “Y-yes your grace?”  
“What do you think of Mor Ardain’s traditions?”  
Morag flinched as she noticed everyone watching her. “It’s part of who we are, isn’t it?”

“You know, if you were to sit the throne,” Amalthus continued, his eyes narrowing in curiosity, “you, as a woman would be outside of typical tradition.”

Morag took in a breath. “But I’m still a Ladair.”  
“What does that mean for you?”  
“I would have a duty to the people. What they view as a flaw shouldn’t control how well I rule.”

Amalthus folded his hands together behind his back, looking up to Niall. “Your Emperor’s rule is contested because he is a bastard, Lord Inquisitor. So what is his response?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “To put in motion that he is the Patriarch of a new house. To overthrow the law that only a warrior must have the Jewels of Mor Ardain.” Amalthus paused, holding the crystal in front of him and watching it float before his eyes. “Your Emperor is right. I could use my abilities to make it easier to bond with this Core Crystal so he could take it for himself. He’s right that she is a symbol of legitimacy and that symbols have power over how your own people will see you. Cheating his way into it could give him the social clout he does not bear on his own.” Amalthus’ lips quirked into a wry smile. “But who has he told, outside of the present company that this was his intention?” Morag’s eyes widened. So her uncle really did plan to take Brighid as his own blade. Her face flushed, her hands balled into small fists. She swore she saw the Praetor give her a cursory glance.

“He-he hasn’t even told us, Your Grace.” Niall’s lips quirked into a frown.

“Indol will gladly step in to keep peace between nations, but we do not take sides.” Amalthus shook his head. “In a similar manner, I will not condone using our influence to avoid the work a ruler must do to ensure his country remains united and under his law. He is sowing the seeds of a Civil War if he’s not careful. One that will likely end the Monarchy of Mor Ardain.”

Niall sighed heavily. “So what is your suggestion, Praetor?”

“I have met Emperor Niamh a few times and his intention with the Empire was never short sighted the way his successor’s is.” Amalthus unfolded his hands and gestures. “Tell your current Emperor this child should be the one who reawakens the Jewel of Mor Ardain as was willed by your last Emperor.” Mórag was genuinely surprised by that. “Emperor Nollaig is not worthy of a blade such as this one. For years you’ve claimed this Blade has never reached her potential. I can assure you that if I make it so she could be in Emperor Nollaig’s possession, she will never get even close.” Cian held up a small box, as the Praetor let the crystal be set in it. 

“Thank you Praetor Amalthus.” Niall spoke for them all.  
“That is all. May the Architect watch over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. But. Next chapter's coming soon. Featuring Brighid's return to the physical plane. :)


End file.
